I missed Primark most of all, I think
My sister and I remind me a little of Jane and Elizabeth Bennet. I've been saying, like a really unself-aware prat, for years; what I really mean is that we are both like Lizzy, but I like to think our relationship is as smooth and close as the Sisters Bennet. The truth is probably that we are not very much like the Bennets, in the same way that very few women are actually like Carrie Bradshaw—she's just a handy avatar to have close by. So I find shades of my sister and myself in all literary sisters. On New Year's Day, I was watching the 1995 BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, as has been my tradition for a few years now, and smiling with bland affection at the Jane and Lizzy scenes. Jane, my sister and I concluded, is the sibling with the more obviously 'good' traits. Kindness is her default (something we are both still working on, with mixed results) and she extends a generosity to people's actions and intentions that I am still in the process of mastering. But Lizzy is my favourite literary sister of all, I think. She is flawed, and perhaps her inclinations fall closer to a casual—rather than malicious—cruelty rather than kindness, but she is fair and principled. Above all, she is someone who sees her errors, admits them in light of correction, and then changes for the better. That's what I want to be like in 2017 and beyond.
Happy New Year, by the way.
I am in London, still. I got home a few days before Christmas, and have been wearing pyjamas and mooching around my sister's flat in south London, eating roast potatoes with a ferocious intensity, and drinking anything except water. I have a cold now, which has left my throat burning and my nose stuffed, but I am so happy to be close to my family and friends that I don't even mind so much. I went to the Zara sale, and to Oasis, and to my beloved Marks and Spencer. I spent £60 in Primark, buying tights and slippers and socks, and marvelled at how consistently America has let me down when it comes to price points like these.
A few days after Christmas – we cooked a duck this year – I went to dinner with my girls (yes, I know what 'my girls' sounds like but these people really are ~my girls~) and then we followed it up with George Michael-heavy karaoke because George Michael meant so much to all of us, and we had always thought we would have so much more time to appreciate him. It was a glorious night, and the next morning I was hoarse, and if I could I would do it all again because life is short and if you can't sing along to As while dancing like Mary J Blige with seven of your best friends in the whole wide world, then really, what is it all for?
On New Year's Eve, snug on a sofa in my friend K's flat, eating a syrup sponge pudding (America doesn't have these delightful things, and I missed them so much!) and watching The Walking Dead, I said out loud that I want to fall in love this year. I meant it, and the more I think about it, the more I mean it. I would like to fall head over heels in love with a person this year. I want to travel more. I want to write so much more. I want to earn more money, and have a weekly pedicure, and go out dancing at least once a month. I want to exercise more, make my body stronger and fitter. I want to buy fewer clothes—and when I do buy, I want them to be good quality and fairly made. I want to learn how to swim properly, and maybe get drumming lessons to pick up skills that have been dormant since I was 12 years old. I want to be really happy this year, and to always put my best foot forward, and be a good friend, and grow in all the ways that count.
I hope you get to be happy in 2017.