It didn't make sense for me to spend the time and money necessary to go home to my family in Arizona this Christmas, so I stayed in England. Although, of course, I've missed seeing my family (especially the charming 20-month-old, curly-haired nephew who is the natural centerpiece of such occasions), this meant I had the chance to experience a real English Christmas.
Most of my friends are away visiting their own families during the holidays, but my good friend Kristen is from Nottingham so she and I made firm plans to hang out together on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve usually means traveling home for me, and also going to church, having a family meal and playing some fun board games, along the lines of Settlers of Catan or Puerto Rico. But Christmas Eve this year meant sleeping in and having a quiet morning to myself, happily watching "Miracle on 34th Street" (the old one) on telly, and then meeting up with Kristen in the early evening. We'd planned to go to the cinema to see a Christmas movie--I'd heard "Four Christmases" was funny, but we decided first to go out to dinner.
So we headed out to Nando's, a tasty little Portuguese chicken restaurant chain that I particularly adore because it has adopted the American tradition of bottomless soft drinks that you help yourself to from a drink dispense in the lobby. That's right, it's just like an American McDonalds...as much Diet Coke as I want, not a little 12-ounce cup, and, more importantly, as much ICE as I want! I am an ice fiend. If I'm going to drink pop (or fizzy drinks, as they call it here), I want a 3/4 ice ratio to 1/4 pop. It just tastes better when it's super cold and filled with clinking ice cubes. I have certainly gotten used to having room-temperature drinks in Europe, even room-temperature sodas, but it doesn't mean I don't prefer the ice when I can get it. So, as a Christmas Eve treat, I heartily enjoyed 2 tall glasses of Diet Coke simply stuffed with ice, as Kristen rolled her eyes and smiled amusedly as one might smile at a small child.
After this rather unorthodox Christmas Eve meal (and my goodness it was tasty), we walked over to the cinema. When we arrived, it turned out that "Four Christmases" had sold out, something I've never seen happen before in England. The only other option was James Bond's "Quantum of Solace," and I love the Bond films, though Kristen's not very keen on them. I begged and pleaded and finally she agreed, so we got our tickets for James Bond. On the way in we passed the very American Ben & Jerry's ice cream stand, and decided that our tummies needed another Christmas Eve treat. I have to admit, though, that "Quantum of Solace" was exceedingly violent (and without the intricate storyline that made "Casino Royale" so fascinating), and that I didn't much want ice cream after a few minutes of blood and car crashes and shots ringing out. "It's a Wonderful Life" it wasn't. However, we still enjoyed ourselves and left the theatre discussing the finer points of the plot, which, admittedly, didn't take very long.
Once we returned to my house, we encountered English Mum and Dad, who were just heading out to sing at the midnight carol service at a local high Anglican church. Kristen asked if I wanted to go and I said, "Well, maybe. What do you normally do on Christmas Eve, though?"
"Me?" she said. "I normally go down to the pub! But maybe we should go to church."
"Nah, let's go to the pub," I said. "We're at church all of the time, including tomorrow, but if I go to the pub on Christmas Eve then that would be a truly English experience."
Who was she to argue with this logic? And so we walked the few blocks to the local pub, a fine establishment packed with neighbors and friends. After greeting the folks we knew (Kristen said occasions like Christmas Eve are always when she catches up with her old school friends, as the best locals still do act as gathering places for the community) we settled ourselves in the corner with a drink each and chatted. After talking for awhile I said, "You know, I've had a lot of fun tonight but it just doesn't feel like Christmas Eve, without stockings and my family and games and stuff. Why don't we tell each other Christmas Eve stories?"
I was sure Kristen would say no, but she quickly launched into a very amusing, spontaneous tale of an English red robin who was stuck in a South American jungle and who needed to find his way back to an English garden so he could be there for all of the Christmas card photo shoots. I was very impressed by her ingenuity and responded with my own inspired tale of Blinky the Christmas Ornament, who was a defective bauble that didn't glow like his other brothers and sisters in the ornament factory--or at least not until he got swept out to sea, swallowed by a fish, and caught by a kind fisherman and son who found him inside the fish, fixed his wiring, and hung him on the little tree in their windswept cottage.
We walked back home through the neighborhood streets slowly, pausing to look at all of the Christmas trees shining through the big windows. Then she said goodnight and headed back to her own family, and I crawled into bed, with visions of James Bond and Top Model Red Robins dancing in my head.
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