Every year as the month of December draws to a close, Thing 1 and I thrown on our jams and slippers, crack open a bar of chocolate and a bottle of wine and gather around the warmth of the old lap top to watch The Big Fat Quiz Of The Year.
Subsequently, I spend most of the Christmas holidays with a deep yearning bout of homesickness for the UK.
I know what you’re thinking.
But this is different. And I’m not moving to the UK, I don’t even want to. It’s expensive and it rains too much and that whole stereotype about pasty skin and bad teeth I mean..
I had enough rain growing up in B.C. and I live in Montréal where as a coming of age ritual everyone has all their teeth pulled and replaced by dentures (if you can afford them) because there is no fluoride in the water and the only 2 Dentists on the island charge $6,000.00 an hour so…
But still, I miss a proper cup of tea , cucumber sandwiches, homemade curry, Portland stone, Fish & Chips, Violently Avid Soccer Fans, scones, the adorable David Mitchell, a vocabulary that makes everyone sound educated, an accent that makes anyone sound intellectually stimulating and of course, my not-so-secret-lover, Russell Brand.
I am overcome by nostalgia, grief and the looming menace of depression. The anxiety mounts. I ache. I yearn. I wet the bed.
The big black empty hole once inhabited by a feeling of belonging gapes like an infected wound and I lament.
Why? Why oh Why God? WHY? WHY??? Why did I ever leave?
Then I remember that I have never actually been to England. Not even for a connecting flight. I do my transfers in France, Amsterdam maybe. I’m lying of course. I’ve never been to Amsterdam either.
So why this deep sense of belonging?
Is it in my blood? Is somebody somewhere along the chain of DNA bred, born and raised in the United Kingdom?
Is it because I was born in Canada and raised in British Columbia – Home of the Empress Hotel, battered Haddock and many a brainwashed child – pledging allegiance to a Queen… who, as it turns out wasn’t at all ours to pledge allegiance to?
Or have I simply just watched far too many episodes of Upstairs Downstairs, Faulty Towers and Shameless for my own good?
I’d go to therapy to sort it out but my therapist will just ask me why I think it is that I feel this way and quite frankly, if I wanted to talk in circles well… that’s what I have you for.
Why, oh why, wise people of the internet, does the Big Fat Quiz Of The Year make me feel homesick?