Byeeeeee

I'm leaving this afternoon for a family Christmas in Brussels and New Year in the French Alps - see you next year!

I truly hope everyone gets a chance to relax and breathe over the holidays. Don't take life so seriously and try to smile more. The New Year's going to be fab!

Heaven is a place where hair doesn't need cutting

On a scale of one to ten of my comfort level in certain situations (1 being sitting in a small group of close friends and family and 10 being standing on stage making a presentation about something I know nothing about in front of hundreds of people who hate me), walking into a Polish doctor's or hairdresser's and negotiating the situation on my own ranks pretty high.

I'd say a seven. OK, maybe just a six, but it's not on my list of things I have to do before I die, and yet I did both today.

The doctor's was fine. I remembered all the vital words and I had the safety net that she spoke English if my vocab gave out and my mind went blank. It was all quite straightforward and I came out with a minor sense of achievement.

The hairdresser's was more tricky. I have my hair cut about twice a year and I have a really hard time understanding those people who go once a week, or even more often. I put it off until the last moment and, if possible, go somewhere where they speak a language I feel comfortable communicating in (last time my hair was cut was in the States in May. I'm not exaggerating.)

Staring at myself in a (usually incredibly unflattering) mirror while a complete stranger chops away at my limp wet hair in front of a huge window that random shoppers look into regularly, is not my idea of a good time. I feel relatively confident with Polish now but when you have no idea how to explain your ideal haircut and you weren't organised enough to learn the Polish for layers or fringe, the fun rating comes down another couple of notches.

The hairdresser herself was fine. She looked about 17 and was obviously not in the mood for conversation, but she was fine. She cut it, and I said 'yes' and 'ok' in all the right places. Of course, I had this mental image of a bubbly confident me chatting away, filling in the missing vocab with hand gestures and smiles, but in fact I just turned red every time she asked me a question and stuttered out my pre-prepared phrases as best I could. The cut is nothing special. Still, I've made more progress in my personal 'practical Polish' language course.

Next in line is dinner with Marek's family this evening, as I'm leaving in a couple of days and will miss out on the Polish Christmas experience. That's fine though; well within my comfort zone.

Random thoughts from a runaway train speeding towards Christmas

I (obviously) missed internet shopping deadlines and left card making and sending, present buying and wrapping, and cake and cookie making until the last minute so this weekend was a crazed dash of all that plus more.

I was invited to three parties yesterday at 16.00 and didn't make a single one. There was still so much to do.

Our flat looks as if someone shot down Santa and he landed in our living room, spraying wrapping paper, gifts, ribbon, tape and glitter all around as he fell.

My plane's in three days.

The radio has switched from awful 80s music to awful Christmas 80s music. I heard a Polish version of Christmas time yesterday, no, that's the song playing on the radio now. What's that other song? with the 'it's Christmas!' shouted out in the background towards the end and the 'here's to the future now-it's only just begun' bit? Nevermind, it was that. In Polish.

My Christmas cards are made of red and green card with gold sequins. They kind of look like kindergarten rejects but they've still been sent (oh, who am I kidding? they're going to be sent this morning, right away).

It's a good time to be a busker or a waiter around me now. I'm handing out cash like there's no tomorrow. 20% tip? Merry Christmas! Singing Jingle Bells in a Spanish accent with no idea of the words? 5 zloty for effort! All the best for the New Year!

Bus ride

I checked my watch and swore under my breath. Looking back at the timetable, the empty road and my watch again, it was clear the bus I'd wanted had been and gone two minutes earlier. At that time of night, the next wouldn't be along for another half an hour.

After ten minutes or so, another pulled up, and although it meant a tram ride at the other end, I got on. On the back seats, two men were having a drunken argument. A little further forward, two homeless men were catching up on some sleep. I sat myself in the middle of the bus and looked out the window.

As it was dark and most people were tucked up in their houses, nothing was happening on the streets. As the bus neared the centre of town though, more and more people got on, giving me something to watch. People had been at Christmas parties and late night shopping for gifts.

There was a pattern. Someone would get on and head for the back of the bus, which, apart from the four men, was empty. Then, either a drunken curse would be heard from the very back, or the new passenger would come up against the unwashed odour of the two sleeping men and abandon that plan, heading for the increasingly crowded front and opening a window on the way.

Some people obviously struggled with their emotions before taking up a standing position at the front of the bus, quickly glancing about the back and moving forward without a word. Others were less subtle, wafting the air in front of their nose and screwing up their faces with the stench.

The sleeping men suddenly awoke and raised their heads from their arms. Although one fell asleep again almost immediately, the second, a younger man, stayed awake, and seemed aware that the seats around them were empty. He looked at the crowd in the front and then cast his glance swiftly outside.

The second, bearded man, leaned against the younger man, trying to get comfortable in his sleep. The younger man, obviously not happy with this arrangement, gently shrugged him off, but caught the sleeping man's head in his hands before it hit the seat in front.

For a while they stayed like that, the younger man cradling the bearded man's head as he slept.

My stop was getting closer and the drunken men had traded their last insults and got off the bus. A few people had moved further back, now the drunken brawl was out of sight.

I looked back at the homeless men as I got up from my seat, on my way back to my warm flat when all they had was this draughty vehicle. The bearded man was still asleep, propped on his own arm again. The younger man had his arm around the sleeping man and as I stepped off the bus, I saw his hand was in the sleeping man's pocket, rooting around for anything he could get.