I thought I'd put the Christmas tree up today, as I had the house to myself for an hour, then remembered I chucked it away last year in a fit of resentment. It was an artificial one (I'm allergic to real ones) so there was nothing remotely wrong with it. I simply couldn't be bothered to stuff it back into its box (which mysteriously shrinks every year) and cart it all the way up to the Cupboard of Crap in our bedroom. I know, I know I'm awful and wasteful. I like to think it was rescued en route to the dump, and is now resplendent and twinkling in someone else's living room. Sorry little tree.
Anyway, unable to face buying a new one in person I ordered something online (it looked like a Christmas tree, so fingers crossed) and thought I'd work on my latest chapter instead. Trouble was, Christmas thoughts kept barging in on Writing ones like unwanted guests. No sooner had I got to grips with a tricky paragraph than in they came; taking their coats off, flicking the kettle on and making pertinent comments like,
"Weren't you supposed to track down that perfume your Mum used to wear in 1970?" and "Don't forget to order a Torchwood calendar for your nephew," and "remember you have to post your niece's present off, and you haven't bought it yet." Even more chilling were the words, "there're only seventeen days left until Christmas, you know."
Seventeen days?? Jeez-Louise. The only writing I should be doing is, "To Your Lot - Happy Christmas, from Our Lot xxx" except I haven't bought my cards yet.
Must be upbeat though. My daughter said to me yesterday, "For god's sake Mum, stop putting a big, fat dampener on Christmas. I'm trying to look forward to it."
I wouldn't mind, but she's nearly twenty.
Also, received this lovely award from the feisty BFS at Boomer Baby Bliss for which I'm most 'umbly grateful. Only thing is, I think it's spelt wrong ;o) Might have to build a virtual shelf for them all now (she bragged unattractively).