It's Christmas, it's Christmas, it's Christmas!

Is it possible to be drunk on Christmas cheer? Because I think I am.

I've just got back from the Christmas Carol Concert at York Minster, and I'm pretty sure even the most secular of souls would have had their cockles warmed by the soaring voices and charming tales. Being a slightly-less-secular sort (I have my Feelings on spirituality and organised religion, and they are personal and desperately dull, and don't affect the way I behave in everyday life, so I won't go into them here. One day, maybe, though being able to articulate this stuff is often beyond me. I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS), I was thoroughly swept up in the magnificence of it all. I cried. #inevitable

BUT IT WAS JUST SO GORGEOUS. The choir were stunning, and there's something about a roomful of voices chorusing together (whether or not they be in tune or time - I certainly wasn't) that fills me with such elation. And, let's be honest, it wasn't just a 'room', it was York fucking Minster, in all it's mind-blowing architectural glory.

When I think that people actually built this with their hands, I have to go and have a little lie down.

The readings, too, were wonderful. Charming Christmas poetry, wistful tales from aged pastors, and a brilliant section that detailed some thoughts on the holiday season expressed by children. Highlights: 'Christmas is when you have to kiss relatives you don't like' and 'I think you're meant to think that giving presents is better than receiving them. But it's not.' Oh, kids, you're always bang on the money.

Aside from inciting giggle fits from my housemates by insisting on rhyming 'mind' and 'wind' during God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, which may have ruined the mood slightly, I spent the entire concert beaming with glee, tear-stained and giddy. During O Little Town of Bethlehem and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing in particular, I closed my eyes and - you know on a really hot day when you let the sun beat down on your face and it's the most blissfully warm feeling? Well it was almost exactly light that - a warm glow in the sharp iciness of the winter air. Gorgeous.

I also managed to get 90% of my Christmas shopping done in TWO HOURS this afternoon. Like a boss. York is SUCH a beautiful city in which to shop (I was strolling around wearing a dumbface grin all afternoon), but holy moly does it bring into sharp relief how utterly poor I am. There were so many presents I saw that were ideal, but just too expensive. Remember when I had a job? Remember when I had disposable income? Remind me again why I gave that up?

I jest, I am blissfully happy on this Master's course and it was absolutely the right decision to come here. But still, POVERTY.

Being a poor student does foster some level of creativity, however. Some of the girls and I have arranged a Secret Santa with a) a £5 budget, and b) a theme: survival. Considering the spiralling pit of doom this Christmas 'break' will inevitably become - having to write TWELVE THOUSAND WORDS over the festive period is tantamount to torture, I swear - the presents should be tailored to ensure we don't all lose our minds. Excellent idea, and excellent fun to purchase. I only hope mine match up to everyone else's!

Also, I managed to co-ordinate my umbrella to my skirt yesterday. I must have looked like SUCH a douchebag walking around like that.

This was a thing that I did.

And now, I shall spend the rest of this evening watching The Sound of Music and quaffing home-made mulled cider. And by 'home-made mulled cider', I mean 'cider which I warmed in a pan and stirred with cinnamon and brown sugar'. That's basically how it works, right?

Whatever, I don't care. DRUNK ON CHRISTMAS CHEER. (And now cider.)