Friday, 28 December 2012

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

So I have celebrated an English Christmas in England — the "in England" being a fairly obvious part — and apparently the experiences I have had so far are not extra-ordinary by any measures. Which is to say, I'm not special in any way. Everything I have experiences so far is not, and I repeat, not special in any way. But coincidently, this is one of those occasions when I don't mind, not being special.

The "And English" being a less obvious part. Why, you might ask? Because, the Christmas we celebrate — although not vastly different from theirs— is one of differences worth mentioning. None more apparent than by visiting English pubs and talking to people that have… simply lived here for… well.… 60+ years. The have already had the pleasure of having the experiences that of most us inevitable seek to replicate, regardless of not knowing it. Their experiences are honest. To the point. And without the guilt of overcompensation for the past.

And whilst I suppose a part of me should assume that they're lying — because I'm Finnish and distrustful — most of me is still going to err on the side of caution and simply assume that they speak nothing but the truth. Because we all know how well known the English are for speaking the truth.

Good? Irony pointed out? Excellent. Now I can tell you about our Enginavian Christmas without you judging me. Well… too much at least. Or at least until my friend in Thailand starts writing a fecking blog…

Yeah. dude. We're still waiting.

So. English Christmas. What is it like? I could, should but won't… post a picture of our Christmas feast. Mainly because I will probably pale in comparison to the others have had, but I will still describe it and hope that that is good enough.

Stay tuned for part two.