Here is a photo of me during my first Christmas in London in 2002.

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And here’s a photo I took at 3.45 today.

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From the 2002 pic, note the look on my face: a mixture of confusion and resentment. Confused that the grass in England is greener in winter than summer. What?! HOW. Grass dies and goes yellow in autumn – this shouldn’t be possible. What’s going on. Am I an in an alien realm.

And resentful because it was so blissfully warm. I can’t bear the cold, and though snow is pretty, growing up in Toronto was miserable for me during the winters – the cold (down to -35C for weeks at a time when I was a kid) always just sucked every ounce of happiness out of my body.

Christmas in England to me felt fucking weird.

And it still does – and it never will stop feeling so fucking weird. This pic of a slate grey sky, the streetlights coming on, children playing without sweaters, and electric green grass… none of it computes. Head hurts. THIS IS NOT WHAT CHRISTMAS LOOKS LIKE, my brain screams.

And yet… I adore it. England, my heart is yours. And always will be.

Happy Holidays everyone, from my lovely polite robust Canucks to my snaggle toothed drunken Pommies, I love you all.

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