You’re lucky. I was going to use ‘Bah Humbug’ as a title. My sister in her infinite wisdom has persuaded me not to be a Scrooge. But indulge me in a short vent if you will.
After the recent melodramatic female related events of the last few days (which I assure you I will regale all in good time), I now sit alone, paying for the privilege to use a hostel computer. Sometime early this morning, my net book hard drive decided to die on Christmas Eve. The machine is less than a year old, and yours truly has a habit of throwing things out that he doesn’t think he’ll need. In this case – the warranty. Far more valuable to me however are the literally thousands of photographs, videos and files I have now lost, or it’s going to cost me an arm and a leg to recover. Festive I am not.
In attempting to leave Florence I have failed miserably, dragged down by another futile attempt at something better, and now stuck for places to go as it’s this time of year. Travel becomes super expensive, hostels ramp up prices and beds are overloaded. I desperately wanted out, but couldn’t make it work with regard to timing, destination and safety. At one point I flirted with the idea of doing a mammoth hitch back to Croatia, but sleeping under a bridge on Christmas day isn’t my idea of fun. I opted for a place where I thought I could make new friends, and not spend Christmas paying for the privilege of speaking to friends and family over the internet. Instead I ended up in purgatory. A soulless place where the lost and the damned go to stare vacantly through you. Where a thousand faces are transfixed in the ground. The Dead Marshes. The Deadly Desert. The Swamp of Sadness. Plus Hostel Florence.
And then it hit me. Like a proverbial ton of bricks. People do have to sleep under bridges at Christmas time. I’m lucky to have the means to put a roof over my head. Then I thought of the recent tragic events back home in Glasgow. Then I thought of the countless number of people who have recently lost loved ones. And the millions more going through hardship, poverty, heartbreak and loneliness at this, or any other time of year. I felt ashamed.
I have, on more than one occasion, developed a penchant for the overly dramatic. When the shit hits the fan, I tend to sniff it right up, rather than getting a J-cloth and a bottle of Cif. The dummy gets spat and the toys get hurled from the pram. So I’m still single and wandering the globe alone? So I’ve lost a decade worth of topless photographs?! Who cares?! I am still (relatively) healthy and (hopefully) alive. And it’s Christmas – the most wonderful time of the year. A time to consider others, rather than ones self.
With the best will in the world, I have handed out some small charity to the homeless, and have forced myself to be decidedly more of good cheer. I’m walking around with a perma-grin and the happy glow of a drunk Elf. And yet, for a number of years now, and for reasons well documented, Christmas has stopped being Christmas. I live it now vicariously through others and their wonderful photographs and stories on social media. When bar staff wear Santa hats. When your kids visit the man himself at the local shopping centre. When you pass out after the turkey. When my sister decides to share endlessly embarrassing yule-tide memories from days long gone. With the constant, steadfast resolve, that one day I will again leave milk and cookies by the chimney, and a carrot for Rudolf.
Take care of one another. Remember those not as fortunate. Remember absent friends and family. And above all, dearest readers and loved ones; have a very Merry Christmas. Xxx
Joy to the world…
You’re lucky. I was going to use ‘Bah Humbug’ as a title. My sister in her infinite wisdom has persuaded me not to be a Scrooge. But indulge me in a short vent if you will.
After the recent melodramatic female related events of the last few days (which I assure you I will regale all in good time), I now sit alone, paying for the privilege to use a hostel computer. Sometime early this morning, my net book hard drive decided to die on Christmas Eve. The machine is less than a year old, and yours truly has a habit of throwing things out that he doesn’t think he’ll need. In this case – the warranty. Far more valuable to me however are the literally thousands of photographs, videos and files I have now lost, or it’s going to cost me an arm and a leg to recover. Festive I am not.
In attempting to leave Florence I have failed miserably, dragged down by another futile attempt at something better, and now stuck for places to go as it’s this time of year. Travel becomes super expensive, hostels ramp up prices and beds are overloaded. I desperately wanted out, but couldn’t make it work with regard to timing, destination and safety. At one point I flirted with the idea of doing a mammoth hitch back to Croatia, but sleeping under a bridge on Christmas day isn’t my idea of fun. I opted for a place where I thought I could make new friends, and not spend Christmas paying for the privilege of speaking to friends and family over the internet. Instead I ended up in purgatory. A soulless place where the lost and the damned go to stare vacantly through you. Where a thousand faces are transfixed in the ground. The Dead Marshes. The Deadly Desert. The Swamp of Sadness. Plus Hostel Florence.
And then it hit me. Like a proverbial ton of bricks. People do have to sleep under bridges at Christmas time. I’m lucky to have the means to put a roof over my head. Then I thought of the recent tragic events back home in Glasgow. Then I thought of the countless number of people who have recently lost loved ones. And the millions more going through hardship, poverty, heartbreak and loneliness at this, or any other time of year. I felt ashamed.
I have, on more than one occasion, developed a penchant for the overly dramatic. When the shit hits the fan, I tend to sniff it right up, rather than getting a J-cloth and a bottle of Cif. The dummy gets spat and the toys get hurled from the pram. So I’m still single and wandering the globe alone? So I’ve lost a decade worth of topless photographs?! Who cares?! I am still (relatively) healthy and (hopefully) alive. And it’s Christmas – the most wonderful time of the year. A time to consider others, rather than ones self.
With the best will in the world, I have handed out some small charity to the homeless, and have forced myself to be decidedly more of good cheer. I’m walking around with a perma-grin and the happy glow of a drunk Elf. And yet, for a number of years now, and for reasons well documented, Christmas has stopped being Christmas. I live it now vicariously through others and their wonderful photographs and stories on social media. When bar staff wear Santa hats. When your kids visit the man himself at the local shopping centre. When you pass out after the turkey. When my sister decides to share endlessly embarrassing yule-tide memories from days long gone. With the constant, steadfast resolve, that one day I will again leave milk and cookies by the chimney, and a carrot for Rudolf.
Take care of one another. Remember those not as fortunate. Remember absent friends and family. And above all, dearest readers and loved ones; have a very Merry Christmas. Xxx