Carrie from Christmas Eve

Prologue: At the 1996 6th form party Carrie comes and sits on my lap, we talk and I’m reasonably sure I was too drunk to lay down any tangible memory of what unfolded next. This was back in the day when a party snog came more readily than a serious conversation - a trend which has been depressingly reversed in more recent times.

Christmas Eves:

Carrie is one of those people I only ever see on Christmas Eve. She’s there down the local in amongst the frequent knowing nods and occasional awkward conversation that the Christmas cheer - or maybe just the Stella - seems to make slightly more enjoyable than difficult. I’m not sure exactly when we were Christmas Eve reunited after the teenage encounter, but know for certain that ive spoken to her exclusively on Christmas eves for the past 5 years, and possibly a couple more previous to that. Given this fact, I think our relationship is going well. We’ve progressed through the, ‘Hey hows it going’ ...If you asked me now I’m not sure I really know who you are... of the awkward first conversation, through the years of familiar smiles and, ‘Oh Hiya – I only ever really see you on Christmas Eve!’ On to the, ‘See you next year’ and, a year later, ‘Oh Hi, hows it going?’

I've learnt she’s a dentist, and now seems to work for a few months and then goes travelling for the rest of the year. She does both surfing and snowboarding is virtually always the coolest person I meet up the pub on Christmas Eve. In short; I fancy her, but only once a year.

In the last two years we’ve gone on to another pub after the first one like we’ve known each other for years (we have, in a way) and most significantly this year (at least in my head), we did this alone.

I can’t say for her, of course, but in my head at least it was a case of get into another pub, have a beer or two and get a Christmas kiss in. The trouble was this year we couldn’t find a bastard pub that would let us in. After four pub refusals for a variety of not very Christmassy reasons, we made it to the Golden Lion where her brother was inside enjoying a lock in. The doorman was not in the slightest bit interested in a bit of Christmas banter and our available two options both seemed to involve fucking right off. Carrie was staying at her brothers in Downend – quite a hike away – so I found it strange that her brother was more worried about loosing his place in the lock in than helping his sister out. On any other night I would have offered her to stay at my parents and I could have given her a lift in the morning, but this was, after all Christmas Eve, so it didn’t really seem like an option. I couldn’t read whether Carrie wanted me to walk her home (I would have gladly) or wait with her until the pub chucked out, or just snog her face off in the car park*. After probably not enough thought I stood up to the doorman and told him he should let Carrie in as she was a girl on her own and needed to be safe inside with her brother. He agreed to this, which left me just a few seconds - with her brother and the doorman both staring me down - to make my move. Obviously I bailed, and just went for the kiss on the cheek, the ‘Happy Christmas’ and the hug (trying to leave it that micro second longer than I would of if I didn’t care).

Ten seconds later and I’m walking away with no phone number, no email or Facebook-stalking** details (I don’t even know her surname) and 364 days to think about what could have been.

* Two points-
1. This was more like my dream than a realistic option, but hey, this is my Blog.
2. Yes, I just said ‘snog her face off.’

** I don’t like the word stalk, but it is stalking; and don’t pretend you don’t do it. It may as well be called Stalkbook