Wednesday, 15 December 2010

Day 81

"Researchers have reconstructed the face of Henry IV, using the presumed skull"

Researchers these days are amazing if they can tell from the skull that Henry IV was retaining water in his neck, had a squint hairline, Emperor Palpatine’s forehead, Keira Knightley’s pout, a killer ‘tash, and a stiff breeze coming from the right.

This is my last day in London for 2010, and I’ve got lots of Christmassy stuff out the way over the last week, including being frozen to death on multiple occasions, seeing an ungodly amount of Santas in one place, drinking slightly too much for someone coming down with one of those ooh-it’s-that-time-of-year-again head colds, unexpectedly celebrating Hanukah (not too Christmassy then), immersing myself in party hats, crackers and mulled wine, attending two Christmas fairs and a confusing Christmassy street and its Christmassy pubs, building a gingerbread house with the Circle of Trust, and proofreading Christmas decorations (oh that’s right). Also did some carol singing. It’s the kind of stuff that always appears on Grumpy Old Men. Didn’t do a lot specific to London, but there’s always next year. Tomorrow, however, I go home for snow, roaring fire, roast meals, Radio Times, pine trees, Christmas TV, and puppies and kitties (not to be mixed with the roaring fire).

While I’m there, I must remember to steal a new bowl (I broke it) and a new bedside light (I broke it). I’ll also be working on the final draft of my short film script, and the treatment for my long form script, which has turned into a black comedy/drama TV series. It’s been an amazing term. I’m relieved I’m still in the process of being trained for professionalism, though, because I really need the next two terms. My best ideas I scribble on pub menus and never translate to the page, I cower at the idea of competing with friends, and my signature only looks like a grown-up’s when written in condensation. Which is often, by the way. Am really excited for next term, but I’m definitely not going to be wishing hometime away.

In preparation for leaving I’ve made use of Henry the Hoover, who in his student accommodation I believe is designed to hoover up pins, pennies, pizza crusts, shards of glass, shards of china, unidentifiable stains, bits of curtain, specks of wall, receipts, paper, plastic, metal and wire, and what I could’ve sworn was the tiny hand of a stuffed toy. Now all I have to do is pack, sleep, remember to wake up, King’s X (it’s King’s Cross, lazy bastards), Edinburgh, home, and death.

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