59 Days Too Many

I've been back in Finland for two months today. It's stupid how it always hits you hardest on the exact dates though it shouldn't be like that. What difference does it make if it's been 60, 61 or 62 days? That is 59 days too many at the least. Though I can't complain about the weather, it's been truly non-Finnish and warmer than in the UK. Ha ha, in your face. I've even caught some sun so my what I call Swedish look is starting to develop. That is, my hair gets whiter while my face gets more tanned, boom, a double effect with the result of me looking like a Swede. Well never mind, that's just a theory of mine and totally out of the point. Having been here for this long also means I'll get to visit England and Worthing again soon. I don't know what's it going to be like. It's a little scary actually, going back and seeing how much things have changed in a relatively short time. I'm trying to keep my hopes down a bit, I'm not even sure what I'm hoping to see or not to see. Besides the bands — the main reason I'm going. Or the "main" reason. But this time I'll have to leave without another ticket already waiting. Considering how much I cried on my flight last time and how many times the polite British gentleman next to me had to check whether I was OK (Yeah yeah sure, never better, doesn't that show?) it's not going to be any easier. Oh god. I know I'm going back, I might even move to England one day, but I don't when that's going to be. Somehow I'd have to program myself into thinking that it's a lovely, second chance given to me. Like it is something in addition to everything I've already had! A positive, nice thing. Which it is, of course. But on the other hand there's this voice in the back of my mind saying what's wrong with you, one goodbye is horrible enough to bear, why do you willingly have to make it two, for fuck's sake? I'd be fine now, without ever going back. Because I never had that last look. Easy. But after facing everything and everyone again knowing this time it's for real?

I hosted an England themed party for my friends last night. I was about to post some photos but then my Photoshop collapsed and I got too pissed off to do everything all over again so you'll only get one. And I shall write about the rest. I served things we used to serve at the hotel: Pimm's cup, prawn cocktails, little triangle sandwiches. I even baked a black forest gateau à la Vilma. (It turned out to be really nice I must say.) Would they take me back? If I don't get into uni this year? Well, I wasn't being completely serious. It would be a whole different story with different people in it. A failing attempt to relive what I had before. I'm not saying it would be a worse story, but it wouldn't be the same so I might as well go somewhere else and start a new one. But sometimes I'm thinking I wouldn't mind serving a couple of English breakfasts. After all it was just very nice. All the things that at times annoyed me to hell about the job have pretty much disappeared, it's golden memories now. But honestly, it wasn't bad there, not at all. Writing this is making me miss working there. Word by word. I could actually shed a couple of tears! I don't miss speaking English as badly anymore, mainly because it hasn't been a part of my everyday life for weeks now. Conversations with myself don't count. For that part I'm practically English.

Ps. Please don't think I'm posh cause I served Pimm's to my guests, I drew inspiration from the weddings back at Chatsworth and the bottle is a souvenir. You have to admit the label is rather classy, don't you? I know. Alright, I will get back to you after my trip probably. Bye for now!