Goodbye Legs Eleven .....

Time to take down our own Advent Window and crack on with the year. I loved eavesdropping on people in the street laughing or commenting on the legs - and I made a new friend out of it (she gave herself 50 little challenges when she turned 50, from making marmalade to walking across a frozen lake - a very suitable friend, I'd say!). And now my head is already having a little party of its own thinking up ideas for next year's window .....

Windows, wonderful windows!

Oh, I love the creative, community-minded, cockle-warming spirit of our neighbourhood. We've been for two little Christmas Eve strolls, one in daylight, one in darkness, to see all 24 Advent windows in their full glory (with some duplicate numbers as more than 24 houses wanted to join in).

What makes it is the variety of ideas and the mixture of class, fun, perfectionism, imperfectionism and leave-it-to-the-kids-ism! Here, in no particular order, is a little gallery of the ones I managed to capture a good photo of (with disappointment at the fab ones I couldn't) ...

You really can control their fairy lights .....

Yep, that's Jeremy Corbyn .....

Now we're off to the Gregson community centrey pubby place where we've been told singing may break out.

So a very Happy Christmas to you all. And well ..... what they said ..... Jingle your bleedin' bells! xxx

Update
Best Christmas Eve ever! Singing did indeed break out - raucously! - and my throat is hoarse. Who knew that up norf they sing The Holly and the Ivy to the tune of Ilkla Moor Baht'at?! Not easy!

Craving comfort

Oh boy.

I’ve taken a 3 1/2 train journey and a hundred steps backwards.

I felt I’d really made a leap in my adjustment to Lancaster. Much of the time I felt positive and happy that I lived there. Two weeks ago I even wrote an email to my sister saying that I thought I loved Lancaster. Yes, I actually used the L word.

Now I'm back in Witney for a few days.

I had deliberately left this as long as possible – three months – to give myself more of a footing in Lancaster and therefore more resilience to be able to deal with any emotions that hit me when I went back.

Three years would have been more like it!

When I walked through the front door of my house initially I felt nothing. The house looked dishevelled and unloved after three months of Fred and just the occasional visit and once-over from Jim. Good, I thought, I’ve lost my attachment.

But the next day I spent seven hours cleaning and my fondness for my house was re-kindled with each swish of the duster, each swoosh of the mop. The plants perked up. The sofa smiled. The toilet gave me a wink. Ah, thank goodness SHE’s back, the house seemed to say.

Then I saw friends. Loads of friends. Pubs, coffee shops, parties. Hugs and easy, pleasurable, connecting conversation with people who know my history and my character, good and bad. I didn’t need to be all Jazz Hands and try to make a good impression. Even people I bumped into in the street, people I used to be on strictly Hello only terms with, hugged me and asked me if I had time for a cup of tea.

In fact, even the streets gave me comfort. So familiar, so tranquil, so tidy, so FLAT. The sky looked huge without the tall buildings in the way. I could see the light. And I could walk on auto-pilot.

I sat down on my corner sofa and cried and thought, I don’t ever want to move again. I woke up in my bed in the morning and felt ‘right’. It would just be so easy and comfortable to stay here and never go back. To tap back into the benefits and love and comfort and ease of the home and world I have created.

Of course, I went from summer in Witney to Autumn and Winter in Lancaster. I went from my home to a rented house. It’s not a fair comparison. And this is hibernation time of year, a time when you naturally crave nesting on the sofa with a fire crackling and a roast dinner in the oven, not a time to go out and meet zillions of new people and do zillions of new things.

I just don’t know if I have it in me.

I am doubting I have done the right thing.

I am re-evaluating yet again what is important in life.

Oh boy.

Update: 

When I got back to Lancaster, I felt as flat as a pancake. But the next day, I got up and got on with it and actually felt.....well.....fine. Lancaster felt a little more like home. A hundred steps backwards, a hundred and one steps forward?

A very Lancaster conversation

Overheard yesterday. A woman talking to another woman she was hosting for the weekend.

Woman 1 I thought we could all eat out together tonight. My treat. There's a good pizza place round the corner. It does gluten-free pizzas too so it should suit everybody. Would that be alright for you?

Woman 2 Mmm ..... I don't eat grains. Or potatoes.

Woman 1 Oh. Let me think ..... I know! There's a good pub down the road. There should be something on the menu there you'd be happy with. Let's have a look. [gets menu up on phone]

Woman 2 I should add I don't eat turmeric ..... or goji berries.

Woman 1 [ignoring those details] Here we go. Starters ..... sauted mushrooms .....

Woman 2 I can't eat mushrooms. My mum's got arthritis, you see, and the trigger seemed to be mushrooms.

Woman 1 [ignores this and continues determinedly] Baked camembert.....

Woman 2 I DO eat cheese, but only unpasteurized ..................... Can I just say that I do want to take responsibility for my own needs here. If I end up not eating tonight, it's no-one else's fault. 

Woman 1 [Puts phone down and tries a new approach] So ..... if you were at home and you were eating out, what type of restaurant would you go to?

Woman 2 I don't eat out. It's not a pleasure for me. I prefer to go to the supermarket and cook what I want. 

Woman 1 [Getting assertive] Well, there's no supermarkets round here. And you see, I don't enjoy cooking, and I will have been working all day, so I'd just like to go out and relax.

Woman 2 Well, if I HAD to eat out, I'd probably choose a fish restaurant.

Woman 1 [relieved] Okay! I know a great fish restaurant [gets up menu on her phone] ....Starters .....Thai prawn and cod cake ......

Woman 2 Oh, I don't eat shellfish. I'm not sure, but I THINK I'm allergic.

Woman 1 [Exasperated] Do you eat meat?

Woman 2 [Like it's a silly question] Oh yes, I eat meat.

Woman 1. Perfect! We'll go the pub and you can have a steak.

Woman 2 I only eat proper steaks.

Woman 1 [Incredulous] What's a 'proper' steak?

Woman 2 Grass-fed.

Woman 1 [getting up and walking off] Well, I'll get you a normal steak, but if you want a grass-fed snake, you can buy it yourself.

Thursday is cheesy chips day

I like Thursdays.

Me and a woman from my street who is doing a PhD go to the Gregson (pubby community centre, not to be confused with Greggs the bakers) to work.

We have a little coffee-chat-work-tea-work-chat routine going.

And we always share a big bowl of cheesy chips for lunch.

She also seems to know literally everyone in Lancaster so I get to hear the life story of anyone who comes in.

So I'm settling nicely into some sort of not-working-at-home routine. A deliberate move on my part to get myself out into the world where I can meet people:

TUESDAYS - I work at The Hub in the city centre.

WEDNESDAYS - I work at the The Hive in the countryside. I walked all the way there yesterday along the river in the sunshine (yes!) with someone else who works there who is endearingly bonkers about wildlife. She even rescued a tiny frozen snail on the path and gave it a lift on her hand to thaw it out.

Turned out it was dead.

THURSDAYS - cheesy chips day.

MONDAYS & FRIDAYS - I try to work at the University of Cumbria library, a 10-minute walk away, because there are huge windows with views of the sea and Lakeland hills.

Not bad for a woman who thought I would only ever be able to concentrate at my Witney 'work station':

on my memory foam cushion
on my wicker chair 
at my ancient clunky PC 
by my window 
with the cactus
and this view.....



I'd worked in this spot for 16 years after all.

Seems you can teach an old dog new tricks. Especially if you offer them cheesy chips.

The W word

I have already got a reputation here for being the woman who moans about the weather.

In fact, I've even been banned from using the word.

But Sweet Begeezuz! I knew that Lancaster was a rainy part of the country but I didn't expect it to have so much effect on how I felt. Those first few weeks, I stomped my way through the puddles in my new red boots, mumbling I've made a terrible mistake, a terrible, terrible mistake.....

First thing I did when I got out of bed every morning was check and compare the forecasts for Lancaster and Witney. Why are you torturing yourself like that? asked Jim. You know Lancaster is never going to come out tops. He thought I was doing it to prove to myself that I'd made a terrible mistake. I wasn't. I was doing it to prove to myself that some days Lancaster got equally good or better weather. It did.

Once.

As a result of my weather forecast obsession, I have come to think of my days in BBC weather symbols.



I reckon barely a day goes by without a Double Drops or a Single Drops episode at some point in the 24 hours. But I've noticed that it's often at night, so that's okay. No, it's not the rain that bothers me the most. At least when it's raining, it's making some sort of statement. And the pitter-patter can feel cosy when you're indoors.

No, it's the Dark Cloud days that get to me the most.



What is the point of them exactly? In between the rain, why can't we at least have a Light Cloud day, a nice Farrow & Ball Elephant's Breath or Skimming Stone shade of sky that leaves you with some kind of will to live.

I'm not the only Suvverner here who struggles with the weather. The light's different, they say. Spring comes three weeks later. Some have lightboxes. Others spend lots of time looking on Right Move at houses in sunny places they might like to retire to.

Like London.

The Northerners are much more matter of fact. It's just a bit wet, they say, or I don't like hot weather anyway. But my favourite was: It's why it's noticeably more open and friendly up North. We have to create our own sun. 

So where am I now with it all?

Well, I have developed some coping strategies (Definitely in Stage 3 of my culture shock now):

1. If it's Full Blast sunshine, I grab it. Even if it means sitting in the garden like a twat with my face upturned like a solar panel for five minutes. You can't think I'll go out later. It might be Double Drops by then.

2. I plan to choose holiday destinations with a high sunshine index.

3. I will meet with my weather-moaning buddy (a fellow Suvvener) regularly and moan. Therapy, innit.

4. I will bathe in the warmth of the people. I think it really does outweigh the crap weather.

Oh, and then there's always Jim's golden nugget of wisdom to cling onto:

Denmark is the happiest country in the world and they don't have good weather. It's not that important. Put a coat on.

Yeah, thanks Jim.

ComYooNitty

I've always thought 'a sense of community' was a very wishy-washy phrase. What did it actually mean? What did it actually feel like? Was it a feeling I was meant to get when I watched the Witney carnival floats go through town? Was it a feeling I was meant to create myself by becoming a Brown Owl or something? I loved (still do!) my friends in Witney, but I always felt at odds with the population as a whole.

Now, I think I get it. The community here scooped me up here before my feet had even touched the ground. It started with cards through the letterbox and invites to come over for a 'brew' from neighbours, peaked with the Advent Window plan (still smiling about that!), continued with a Halloween party in our street for kids.....



and grown-ups.....



and a neighbourhood Trick or Treating gang with pumpkins - and more - aglow in people's front gardens.



Even the pet shop round the corner stayed open and joined in the fun with real snakes and tarantulas on the loose in the dark!

But then it spread wider. The whole town turned out cheerfully and chattily for Light Up Lancaster, a yearly event of light installations all over town.....



including a story projected gigantically onto the castle accompanied by a live choir.....



Though my favourite bit was the library, in darkness, lit only by tangles of fairy lights along the bookshelves.



It was a real mix of very professional and very amateur - which added to the home-grown feel - culminating in a fireworks display over the castle for Bonfire Night.

So what does this sense of community thing feel like then?

Warm, with mushy bits.