Happy New Year! 2014, comin' atcha! It's only 10 days from today until I hop on a plane... eek! So, because I love you, here's a recap of the past week:
Hogmanay had a strange electricity to it. I was in for the long haul (a 4am finish) but I was looking forward to ringing in the New Year surrounded by people. Walking to work, I had butterflies. As I clocked in I felt an eerie glitter settle over me. I was on the brink of 2014, the year that... everything would change? I hoped so. We all stood at the bar and talked tactics before the guests arrived. It felt like there was one very big important guest coming, a High Roller who was going to swagger in at midnight and bring the party with them: 2014.
When the bells did chime, I was in the middle of re-living a nightmare I had dreamt up the previous night: not being able to get customers their drinks in time for twelve. But I made an escape, and all the restaurant staff scooted to the back by the kitchen doors to have a little jig and a jump around while we pretended to know the words to Auld Lang Syne. Before I know it the evening was rolling on (at one point I remember dancing to Loch Lomond behind the bar whilst being cheered on by a man who kinda looked like Mel Brooks and was pouring us dregs from champagne bottles), 4am welcomed us. All the staff marched to the flat party, passing people on their way home from festivities with their bags of chips.
It was a little bit mad. Usual flat party chat, really. I didn't get home 'til 2pm the next day (hey, Party Girl!). And then-
Suddenly, JANUARY. Suddenly, CANADA. It's happening, it's real. No longer is it next month, it's now a matter of days. The New Year seems to have burst through the door, scooped me up with a pair of burly arms and thrown me over its shoulder. I am being carried away on a rip tide, now. From clutching cafe tables to full-on crying in shopping centres, I now seem to be suffering from an affliction that many people who are about to leave their homelands face: Surprise Emotions! For some reason, I hadn't anticipated the full extent of the emotional toll that leaving the country for an indefinite amount of time would take on me. Yesterday I started bubbling in the Bon Accord Centre (sparked by several pairs of jeans that I couldn't fit into - had a bit of a rant to myself in the changing rooms, "WHAT ARE THESE!? WHO MAKES THESE JEANS FOR SHRIMPS!?") and had to be taken back to the car while my Mum and sister finished off errands in John Lewis. I sat in the passenger seat of the Mini, tear-stained face and all, while Sunday-afternoon seagulls dipped under the grey sky. I turned on the radio - the theme from Rocky was playing. I turned the volume all the way up.
Gonna fly now!, the Rocky Orchestra sang.
I miss my friends, I thought.
Flying high now!, Rocky retorted.
I miss everyone and I haven't even left yet, I weeped.
Rocky: Gonna FLYYYYYYYY
Olivia: :( :( :( :(
The day before, I attended one of my best friends' sister's wedding. It was going to be the last time I saw their family for a long while. After the ceremony, everyone was gathered outside the church for photos. I had to skedaddle, so I ran up to my best friend to say goodbye. "This is the last time I'll see you before I go!" I started to say, but I was cut off by a waterfall that had begun to run down my face. Surprise! Emotions! She berated me for crying: "No! Don't cry because you'll make me cry and the lady said if I cry too much my eyelashes will fall off my face and I've already cried loads today!" I reeled it in: it's ok, this isn't goodbye forever. I'll be fine. I'll be great.
Aberdeen seems to be doing a good job of trying to get me to stay, though. Whether its stellar friends at The Restaurant, buzzing gigs, or cute bartenders (ouch, ya killin' me here! make me another mojito so I can talk to you some more…), ABZ is pulling out all the stops. Never has the Granite City seemed so tasty (and HOW! I was crawling the walls wanting to leave this place!), but I know I've got to leave.
I played my last gig in the country (for a while at least, but how momentous it feels to say that!) last night. It was such a boost to play for people who had never heard me before, some of my work friends who were out that night didn't even know that I played and sang. The thumbs up and pats on the back meant a lot, and I'll keep them in my head for those Dark Creative Times when I'm about to throw my guitar out the window. Plus there was a drunk guy doing jazz squares a couple of feet away from my microphone which was hilarious.
Centre: me. A little to the right: ol' Jazz Squares himself. (credit)
At about 4 in the morning, I was sitting in a flat with a couple of pals from The Restaurant, and we were sharing our favourite songs and having a bit of a DMC (for those of you who aren't clued up yet: Deep Meaningful Conversation). It got pretty dark, but we all climbed out the other end with a new sense of purpose and self-belief. The elated climax of the conversation went a bit like this:
"Listen to me, mate. Don't be the Best Supporting Actor to the film of your life. Be Bradley Cooper, mate! Be your own Bradley Cooper! You don't wanna be the Christoph Bloody Waltz - whoever the hell, you don't wanna be him, mate. Be the fucking - Golden Globes, bloody Academy Award, Bradley-fucking-Oscar-winning-Cooper! You hear me!?"
That stuck, mainly because it gave me the giggles and still makes me smile every time I think of it, but also because I live for the cinematic. I'm no Bradley Coops, but I feel like I'm soon to be living the opening montage to a new film, something titled in a witty and bold way, a film that takes everyone from the East Coast shores of Scotland to the lapping waves of Lake Ontario (hold up - more like frozen, icy Lake Ontario!).
As I walked back home with my friend from that after-party of sorts, I scanned the skies for familiar constellations. We were at the foot of my road, and he remarked that this was probably going to be one of the last times I'd see my home street (he meant it in a nice, reflective way, not in a "this is the last time you'll get to see your street because ha guess what IM A SECRET MURDER SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR FAVOURED LAMPPOSTS"). "Not really, but I guess this will be the last time I'll see it like this," I agreed, looking over the deathly quiet road. I paused and looked to the sky, blocking the glare from the streetlamp with a gloved hand. I scouted for my favourite constellations, spying the Big Dipper tilting over the church roof. I recalled how when I was younger I used to like taking the bins out in the winter evenings, because when the sky was clear I could look up and see all the stars, and if I stared long enough more and more little white sparkles would reveal themselves. Sometimes I would catch the moon, and often would play the game of How Long Can I Stare At The Sky Before I Get Totally Freaked Out By The Vastness of Space? On clear nights in Canada I'll be looking out for my favourite constellations and will use them as anchors, remembering those moments on my West End street, or the evenings in Edinburgh where I would wander through Pollock Halls and smile, because I could see Orion following me.
*sniffs* I'm sorry, I'm getting a bit poetic and emotional about stars.
Let's get off the Kleenex Express and hurl ourselves back into the Real World. You know, the one where you're not having conversations about constellations at six in the morning (told you I had a penchant for cinema, that was a bit of a scene, wasn't it?). At the moment I'm starting to get myself and my belongings together. Packing is happening, people! I've bought my snow boots, my mittens (mittens! eeee! are they adorable because they look like flumpy lobster claws or because their name rhymes with kittens!? both!) and my winter coat. My coat is huge and stuffed with duck down, and I get tingly when I look at it because I know it is my Adventure Coat which is going to come with me on all my wintery Canadian Adventures.
Adventure Coat!
I'm excited but I'm also having a little internal freak-out after seeing that Toronto is getting major-chilly-extreme-icy-bad-cold warnings; looks like flights and travel and just about everything is all over the place. This is not good. Lets all cross fingers and touch wood that I get to the country on time. I mean, its been such a bloody long saga so far, I can easily imagine flights being cancelled and a schooner rigged up for the sorry passengers. Yes… I see it now: the journey will be epic, it'll take about three weeks for us to navigate the treacherous Atlantic, and the whole affair will be a cross between Titanic and Muppet Treasure Island. Eventually, after several near-death experiences, scurvy, shark attacks and a hearty rendition of Cabin Fever (complete with maracas), I'll arrive, crawling out of the icy waves on to the sandy shores of Toronto (DONT ASK MY HOW WE SAILED INTO LAKE ONTARIO) à la a shipwrecked Tom Hanks, missing several important body parts that I've exchanged for a tale or two to tell the lads down at the pub.
Yep, that'll be me. By that point, crying to the Rocky Soundtrack won't seem like such a disaster.
Good luck !
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