There is life outside the internet after all

After two weeks of almost complete internet silence, I’m finally back in the land of the virtual living. It’s been good to have a break. I missed it less than I thought I would.

Christmas was spent for the first time in years, with my parents who don’t bother with decorations or a tree, or crap films or any enthusiasm for anything at all. I spent the day reading a The Long Way Round book tie-in book, listening to the clock ticking. At least I awoke with that man of mine who outdid himself by presenting me with a Love Kylie Bra and Pants set and the afore-mentioned book. This year, presents had a bit of a wool theme, since I made the mistake of telling people that I didn’t have enough wool for the blanket I’m crocheting (and still will be crocheting when I’m actually old enough to be caught crocheting without shame). I now have more wool than I thought it possible for one person to own.

Christmas Eve evening was spent in our local pub seeing the same old faces, slightly fatter now that proper salaries afford more than just draw and booze. In our local inbred town they’re pretty much gingers to a man. And boy do I like the gingers! Possibly the only female in the whole of existence to ever have said that, but I just can’t help it. Probably something to do with watching endless re-runs of Anne of Green Gables and wanting to be her. I also wanted to have a silent and faithful Gilbert Blythe character to be secretly in love with me. Unfortunately, when I got one (with a beautiful long auburn mane) it turned out not to be as much fun as I’d thought. It turns out people have these pesky feelings that get in the way of my novel-inspired fantasies. I tried to treat his affections with respect, but it’s not easy when you’re a natural prick tease, you go to an all-girl school and you're fifteen. Turning up out of the blue every now and then, to see him visibly shaken by my arrival has been a guilty pleasure of mine for too long. Being an evil female is something that comes naturally to me, but I do still have a conscience and this time I texted a warning a few days in advance so the long-suffering one could get ready for my arrival. Apart from an almost involuntary “aw, your hair is so soft” accompanying the initial hug, all signs of besotted and unrequited love seemed to have passed. Who will admire me from afar now?! Resisting the urge to begin attempts to re-ensnare the hapless chap, I decided it was time to stop pretending to be Scarlet O’Hara and let my old not-flame get on with his life (and to stop inflating a mild affection into mindless, consuming adoration in my imagination.) Face it, girl, he’s over you.