You can never go back again

This morning I decided I was going to clear out my hotmail inbox. I have close to forty pages of emails, and I thought that half of them were probably shitty forwards so a clean up was in order. And I was actually shocked at what I found. Emails I hadn't read in years, from as far back as 2002. Emails I'd forgotten I'd sent and received, situations I'd long consigned to the history books; memories both happy and sad.

One of the first emails I read, was one from my friend Des. Des was one of the Irish, who lived in my halls in Annecy. I spent nearly six months in Annecy, France, working in a business college. I lived in halls of residence, which appeared to be the dumping ground for foreign students and society's rejects. I was there for about two weeks, before I realised there were other English-speakers living there. And it made me so happy! I remember I'd just come in from work, and was having a word with Vince, one of the residents who also worked in the admin office, when I heard a girl shouting something in English, up the stairwell. So I said "Oh my God! Are you English?" and she said "No, I'm Irish. Are you English?" And that was how it began. Her name was Sarah, and she was one of four Irish people there. And through them, I met Reynaldo who was from Uruguay, Henry who was actually English and the eight other Irish and the Yank who lived in Pre St Jean, the other halls of res up the road.

But out of all the Irish, Des and I hit it off the best. We just clicked. We became quite tight and hung out together all the time. We'd go into town and knockabout, sit in the residence computer room and talk a load of shit, or go down to the the lake and lay around on paquier all day, eating Quick and drinking. One day we just got on the bus and just rode different routes just so we could see where they led to. And then there were the parties in the basement. Des was easily the best dancer out of all the Irish, so we always had a blast. I even dragged him to the cinema a couple times. And when I got my bonus at work, just before I left, he was the one I celebrated with. But the best part of it all? There was never anything sexual or romantic about it. He was like my twin or something. We made each other laugh and told each other nearly everything. I think it remains my best male friendship...ever.

So I ended up reading some of those emails and I'd completely forgotten the sort of things we spoke about. He was the one who comforted me after the whole Cute French Guy debacle, who listened to my whingeing about work and the bitch students at the college who hated me because I was their age and had my own office instead of classes. He was the one who realised that I had a thing for Henry...even before I did! And when Brian and I hooked up, he scoped him out for me and didn't give him the seal of approval. Ha ha ha!

After reading the emails, I went and dug out my album and flipped through it. I named it "Adventures in Foreign Lands" and it's got pictures from my time in Spain, France and odd nights out in Preston. And there's a 'page of Des' with just pictures of me and Des hanging out. It brought back so many memories- me and Des eating a Munich burger (which remains the best burger I've ever had in my life!) in le Munich down by the river, me and Des at the bus stop, waiting for our connecting bus to come home one night, me and Des hugging up at one of our basement parties (we were both sweaty as fook, glistening in the night. Twas ace!) And then there's that classic memory I have of me being in a cage in a club, sandwiched between Des and Paul, dancing to Starlight by Supermen Lovers.

One decision basically led to me having a fabulous walk down memory lane. It's like looking back on a completely different life, which is actually pretty cool. It's good to have these memories stashed away, so I can remind myself that I wasn't always this dull, going to bed at eight-thirty and spending my days knitting. These memories remind me that I once flew to Paris for a weekend of dirty sex and ended up fracturing my foot shagging in a shower. They remind me that I got a tattoo one afternoon after work in Annecy, just because I fancied it. They remind me that one weekend I hopped the Swiss/French border with the guy I was doing a bit of the ol' horizontal jogging with, and went to the Geneva motor show on a whim. They remind me of a much simpler time, when all I had to do was worry about keeping my office door shut while I played my D'Angelo and worked on the college prospectus.

So, while they say you can never go back again, it's very nice to pay a visit once in a while.

HAPPY 50TH POST TO ME!!!