"Home" for Christmas

After almost two years travelling Asia, we’re back in the UK for Christmas. On a lot of levels, I’ve been anxious about this for a while.

It’s partly the adjustment to the dark, drizzly English winter — in England in December you can expect under 8 hours of daylight per day. And that is normally not of the bright variety, either.

Having camped in the snow in Songpan and visited the Great Wall in temperatures so low our water froze, it ill behoves me to whinge about the British weather.

But, firstly, I’m British, so I whinge, and secondly, this is truly not the season in which to see Blighty at its best.

I was also anxious about re-entry. How was I going to feel, returning to stay as H’s guest in the house I once owned half of? How was Z going to feel, hooking up with friends who’ve spent the last two years in the routine of school? How was it going to feel pounding those old familiar streets once again?

And, you know what?

It feels really nice. For a visit.

Unambiguous, unmixed. Just — good to be back, for a stint.

As a guest of a friend in a house that was once your home…

When you live in a big world city like London, it’s hard to imagine that you could ever live anywhere else, or even that anyone could want to.

Yet, coming back, it feels like a former home, not a current one. We are set on travelling for another couple of years, but I think when we settle, it’s Bali that we think of as a future home.

So… what have we been up to? We’ve met a couple of toddlers who weren’t even born when we left (Z’s honing his babysitting skills on my friend’s two); Z’s been catching up with friends, some of whom, at 12, have performed that incredible stretching act that adolescent boys do, putting them head and shoulders above the rest, and others of whom are slighter than him.

We’ve been for dinners with friends. To the cinema with friends. To lunch with friends. To the National Gallery to feed Z’s Van Gogh obsession. Z’s had a couple of sleepovers at his best friend’s house, been ice skating for another friend’s birthday, and inspected the local mall for riot damage.

I was expecting a lot of reverse culture shock. But it hasn’t hit.

The single oddest thing? Walking into the local shop after two years out of the country to be greeted with, “Hello, love! How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

In fact, if you remove the seasonal afflictions — two colds and a bout of norovirus — from the equation, it’s unambivalently great to be back, catching up with folk, and hopefully exploring England a little as a tourist.

And now, on Christmas Eve, we’re winding up for an expansive family Christmas at my parents’ house in Norfolk — grandparents and one uncle who haven’t seen their grandson since Bali in January, plus cousins, aunts and uncles aplenty.

Z’s decorated the tree, in between visits to his mate who lives next door. I’ve stocked up on stocking fillers. We’ve made Beijing dumplings and Mars Bar cookies, with tom yum soup to come a little later. And, all in all, life feels pretty good.

Merry Christmas! What are you up to?