Christmas day is over, church service attended, the presents have been wrapped and unwrapped and the ludicrous amounts of turkey eating have begun.
However, this years Christmas day left me wondering when old traditions were going to be boxed away and new ones were going to start.
Christmas day is far from dull, but routine is beginning to take over.
For as long as I could remember my mums parents have always come to our house on Christmas eve, joining us for turkey surprise the following day, antique board games and a classic array of naff T.V. When my Grandad left us in 2000 it became just the five of us each year and has been that way ever since. At the time my Dads parents were living five hours away from us in North Yorkshire (One of the most beautiful places in England and where a large amount of my childhood memories come from) and…I actually have no idea why we never had a Christmas with them.
We are not a large family, but we are very close. It is because of this tightness (feel free to vomit now!) that tradition is and will always be such a huge part of my life. But is there a point where traditions should change?
It’s a crazy to think about future Christmas days; the houses, the people and the undoubtedly burnt turkeys. Who knows what next years Christmas day will be like or what will happen.
In a perfect world ten years from now, Christmas day will be spent with all the Coussens family, our offspring and not forgetting a serious helping of food and chocolate (fingers crossed the babies are gifted with our genetically high metabolisms or there’s no Malteasers for the twins.)
Either way, it is a case of wait and find out and maybe next year we will make it to midnight mass…that will certainly count towards as a new tradition.
Saturday 26 December 2009
Monday 21 December 2009
A change of tune.
So with 3 days till Christmas Eve it makes perfect sense to write a blog about Christmas; drawing special attentions to cheap dodgy wrapping paper, non- drop Christmas tree needles (Not convinced!) and a worrying amount of mince pies.
Which is precisely why this blog will not be about the looming festivities, but instead about a recent film I watched called ‘Ray.’
Directed by Taylor Hackford, it portrays the life of the amazing musician that was Ray Charles Robinson.
It’s not until you sit down and watch his life unfold, that you begin to realise how naïve and foolish you can be, thinking all blues/ jazz music is the same (Excluding the wonders of the Rat Pack) leaving you with a rhythm in your feet and a drive to dance.
Perhaps it is a taste that you acquire with age, maybe some people are just born with it (As Maybelline keeps implying) or maybe others are just too afraid to listen to something new.
Either way it is definitely worth a look and gives a great insight into the life and workings of an incredible man. He is a music artist I had never before understood and the newest addition to my CD collection.
Not just an English and Journalism student…even though the music review techniques do occasionally come in handy.
P.S (Should probably stop using brackets.)
Which is precisely why this blog will not be about the looming festivities, but instead about a recent film I watched called ‘Ray.’
Directed by Taylor Hackford, it portrays the life of the amazing musician that was Ray Charles Robinson.
It’s not until you sit down and watch his life unfold, that you begin to realise how naïve and foolish you can be, thinking all blues/ jazz music is the same (Excluding the wonders of the Rat Pack) leaving you with a rhythm in your feet and a drive to dance.
Perhaps it is a taste that you acquire with age, maybe some people are just born with it (As Maybelline keeps implying) or maybe others are just too afraid to listen to something new.
Either way it is definitely worth a look and gives a great insight into the life and workings of an incredible man. He is a music artist I had never before understood and the newest addition to my CD collection.
Not just an English and Journalism student…even though the music review techniques do occasionally come in handy.
P.S (Should probably stop using brackets.)
Sunday 13 December 2009
Home to Bedfordshire
After a 4 hour car journey, some apparently ‘terrible’ music and far more luggage than necessary, my car wheels created the familiar crunch over the stones in the drive. I was home.
As nice as Chester is (lacking descriptive word there, so ‘nice’ will do for now) it doesn’t have the comforting smell, that a lived in family house does. Nor does it have the pets or the old pairs of shoes, or the childhood memories that coincide with it.
But I think the best bit is being able to curl up in your own bed. It’s not that you don’t have a bed at uni, it’s just the one at home belongs to you alone. No springs in your back, dodgy stains, 1970’s mattresses or musty smells of heritage. It’s catered to your exact specifications and the one bit of home; you so often find your self craving.
Mine is covered in pillows and cushions (a typical girl) all you have to do is lay down for three seconds and you’ll fall asleep upon a bed of roses. The Princess from the Princess and the pea would never marry the Prince, because she would not get out of this bed.
Either way forgetting about Princes, Princesses and roses, it is time to take the train to Bedfordshire. The alarm is set for half seven and another day’s work at the kennels will follow.
As nice as Chester is (lacking descriptive word there, so ‘nice’ will do for now) it doesn’t have the comforting smell, that a lived in family house does. Nor does it have the pets or the old pairs of shoes, or the childhood memories that coincide with it.
But I think the best bit is being able to curl up in your own bed. It’s not that you don’t have a bed at uni, it’s just the one at home belongs to you alone. No springs in your back, dodgy stains, 1970’s mattresses or musty smells of heritage. It’s catered to your exact specifications and the one bit of home; you so often find your self craving.
Mine is covered in pillows and cushions (a typical girl) all you have to do is lay down for three seconds and you’ll fall asleep upon a bed of roses. The Princess from the Princess and the pea would never marry the Prince, because she would not get out of this bed.
Either way forgetting about Princes, Princesses and roses, it is time to take the train to Bedfordshire. The alarm is set for half seven and another day’s work at the kennels will follow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
