Put Your Arms Around the World

In recent weeks I've been told off several times for "throwing [my]self at fully grown men." Despite this making me sound like some sort of seductive temptress who lures married men away from their innocent, loving wives, the reality is simpler, and less sordid. Far from being cast as the femme fatale in this little skit I am, in fact, being described as childish. But, never one to take criticism too seriously (haha, yeah right) I've not let this deter me, and I'm carrying on doing my thing. Haters gonna hate and all that.

Everyone who knows me is aware that I am, when appropriate, a very tactile person. In fact, I've even written about it on this blog. It's no big secret, I like hugs. It's how I make and greet friends, how I say goodbye; it's how I show thanks, or apologise; it's how I show sympathy or tell someone that I'm sorry they're having a bad time. I even hug people to put my magical healing properties into action.

At work over the summer I made many new friends and renewed some old acquaintances. I also found in Other Dan (Fleabag Monkeyboy) someone who is as tactile and friendly as I am. Which was amazing. And, after some discussion about friends and handling interpersonal relationships, hugging became part of our daily communication. (The same can be said for Dan, who also willingly jumped on the hug wagon - often taking it a little too far...)

Seeing old friends after a long time apart has also led to much encircling of people in arms recently, as I have returned to my "spiritual home" (intellectual home? part-time home? who knows?!) in Nottingham after more than a year away. Seeing Declan and Tom led to more grasping of fully grown men into welcoming and friendly death grips/embraces in the kitchen, the street, the cinema, and the bus stop. Even Lewis, who I saw in March on a fleeting trip round Braun Town, was (willingly) subjected to a cuddle in the middle of the Clive Granger Building. Not that I had much choice; his arms are so long he'd have hugged me from the end of the corridor...
Of course, seeing Emily, Chloe and Helen, my former TEAM from Abbey Road (or what normal people call "housemates"), again after so long also called for hugs! Especially after Chloe had actually worked out who I was. However, they are not grown men, so their mention in this blog is only honorary.

Last weekend I also did my share of hugging when I wasn't being the Super Scout Translator. I spent the weekend in Viernheim with my wonderful DPSG friends, and Paul and Nicole from Potters Bar. Seeing Gabi always calls for a hug; ditto Markus, who is about as full grown and male as it gets. Other friends, who I only got to know at the weekend, were not greeted with hugs, but were still cuddled close to my healing chest upon departure, meaning I left with more hugs than I arrived with! In fact, I wasn't even the cuddliest person on the weekend trip; the two young daughters of Paul and Nicole's hosts were far cuddlier than I during my time in Viernheim last week. We were, in the most literal sense, welcomed into the bosom of the family.

There are, naturally, many people I haven't had the chance to hug recently too. The most obvious to me are members of my family, including my grandparents (and Jean, of course. She counts), Auntie Margaret, and various aunts, uncles, cousins, and Victorian swimsuit models. There are lots of friends I haven't seen for a long time, too, including most of my old Owen's pals, who I seemed to always miss seeing over the summer. I'll hug them all soon. Then of course there are the people who are too far away, such as Daniel, Doreen, Sammi, Crowdy... The list is practically endless.

So in conclusion, a good, healthy hug is perfectly OK. There is nothing bad about expressing friendship through physical contact (except in a Scout leader/Explorer context, which is sad. But Teej is 18 now at least!), so the haters can shut up. Bad haters. Don't you have something important to be doing? Like researching Charles Taylor or something? Jeez.
Of course, respecting boundaries is important, and it's a pain when someone gets all up in your grill. But in general, throwing yourself at fully grown men is a perfectly acceptable pastime. And far better than throwing yourself at, for example, brick walls. Or tubas. Or poisonous snakes.

Anyway, Rachel wants dinner, so I'd better stop writing now!

Leaving Europe

(In which Brexit will not be discussed.)

Stevan: I think I understand why you don't want to leave Germany.
Me: Go on...
Stevan: Well, if we both know then there's no point in prattling on about it, is there?

So guess what I'm going to prattle on about?
But there's more to my pondering than just the obvious. Of course, like any person who lives somewhere for more than a few months, I've built myself a life here in Braunschweig, and leaving this, my first totally independent year, is not going to be easy. But I've known that for months. It's not just the fact that I'll be going home to a much more sheltered life that's getting me down.

In the last year I have, in one way or another, dealt with almost every serious life event. This year hasn't been simple by any means. I've come into contact with moving, making new friends, missing old friends, long distance relationships, language barriers, cultural barriers, starting a new job, moving away form friends, losing weight, commuting, fixing a bike, learning to bake for vegans, University Challenge, Americans, illness in the family, personal illness, inability to travel due to illness*, flight delays, dream jobs*, retirement*, graduation*, realising your dream job isn't*, operations*, important birthdays, writing a book, break ups*, Austria, totally seeing Jeff Lynne in concert like legit for real oh my gosh it was amazing, homesickness*, international travel, drunk people (Drunk Daniel is Best Daniel), enormous upheaval back home in the shape of most of my favourite lecturers leaving/being unceremoniously chucked from their jobs, missed dreams*, a pregnancy scare*, promotions*, marriage*, lost passport*, socks and sandals**, driving a Trabant, quitting smoking*, failing to quit smoking*, alcoholism*, Christmas dinner, growing plants*, insomnia, Buddhist monks, enormous political upheaval, Donald Trump*, musicals about being saved from a curse by leg warmers, Americans in vests*, stag/hen dos*, religion, Creepy Sauna Guy*, gender reassignment surgery*, beard(s)*, and really bad cups of tea.

In fact, the only life events I haven't really dealt with this year are births and deaths (thank goodness!)
So you see, a lot has happened in the last twelve months, and Braunschweig means a lot more to me than just friends and familiarity!

If you see anything I've missed in this list, I'd be very pleased to add it!

*not mine
**reeeeeeaaaaaaally not mine!!!!