My 21 days of Christmas: solo Christmassing

There's a strange taboo that lingers in the air around the notion of spending Christmas alone. Rushed offers are extended: You must join us! I'll cook you a roast! It'll be nice to have company on Christmas day! The last is the indicator: we should spend time together because it's Christmas. Not that the people who made these offers weren't people I enjoy spending time with. But a Christmas without my own family was always going to be a bit odd and I wanted to indulge myself and have some "me" time. To most people, the very idea of being alone on Christmas day is a hideous tragedy, but I've test-driven it for you and let me assure you, a lonely Christmas is the new nicking the green triangles out of the tin of Quality Street and wearing your Christmas cracker hats while you watch Doctor Who.

I spent the morning at work, rising before the crack of dawn (if we're going to make this an accurate account). The atmosphere was fairly cheery, all things considered, but soon we were all finished and people were rushing off to see their families and tuck into their turkey dinners. I returned home in soft sunshine and finally looked in my stocking (it was sent, sealed, down from Durham with me the week before Santa was kind to me), before setting out on a walk. It felt like the right thing to do. At home, we always used to take the dog for a long walk in the snow after we'd given our dinner time to settle. Here, there was no snow, nor a dog, but St. Andrew's Park was bright and after following the winding paths around and reading of the parks history, I found myself climbing higher up the paved hills into Montpelier, spending fifteen minutes on a swing set and walking back up a deserted Gloucester Road.

St Andrew's Park

Montpelier

Berkeley Road looking onto Sommerville Road

The Arches

I stayed out far longer than I had planned, returning home in darkness and more than ready for my Christmas dinner - but I still had to cook it from scratch! I swapped roasties for double helpings of roast parsnips and enjoyed the whole thing with a glass of Crabbie's ginger beer and the Outnumbered Christmas special.

Christmas dinner for one

I must have done something right because after that I was too full to move! I managed to peel myself from my chair and into my bedroom, where, after opening my presents, I constructed the perfect den, clambered inside and watched Love Actually with a box of M&S chocolates.

Apple Day @ St Werburgh's

Apple Day at Boiling Wells

Before moving to Bristol, I had never before heard the notion of Apple Day. A swift Wikipedia search tells me that it’s not just a Gloucestershire thing but it’s certainly true that Bristolians don’t need an excuse to celebrate the humble apple in the form of cider.  It falls on October 21^st each year and this year, my first, I headed to Boiling Wells for the St. Werburgh’s City Farm Apple Day festivities.

Toffee apple

The 2-acre site on Boiling Wells Lane is just around the corner from the main farm buildings and includes a wooden amphitheatre, which was alive with kid-oriented folk music and twirling toddlers (“This song’s for anyone who loves dinosaurs! Who loves dinosaurs?” elicited a cheer from me). Upon arrival, my friend Adam and I realised we were pretty much the only people without at least one small child in tow – the Apple Day event was perfect for those with children and under 5s went free (admission was £3).  We skirted around the jingling folksters on the stage and passed an impressive-looking wooden press with a gaggle of people eager to press their own apples into juice, making our way towards a large wooden shed with glass bottles incorporated into the gables. The merry tinkle of Morris dancers shifting on their feet (we’d just missed the dancing) mingled in the air with smoke from the griddles where burgers were being hurried on towards hungry mouths. The queue for piping hot mulled cider began to snake through the clearing as the air was crisp and I paid 50p for a toffee apple: the taste of childhood fairgrounds and autumn excitement.

Apple bobbing to find a spouse!

Scattered about the hillside were various games and activities: an apple shy, a quiz for children to do, workshops and apple bobbing. The only form of apple bobbing I had encountered previously was the sort you used to play at hallowe’en as a child: screwing up your eyes as you plunged your face into a bowl and tried to catch a floating apple with your teeth, but this was different: apples dangled on string from the boughs of a tree. Both kinds of bobbing are a Celtic legacy which was originally looked upon as a sign of future marriage. I didn’t make any attempt to sink my teeth into a twirling apple – I’m happy without a husband for the time being!