In the six months preceding November 20th, our calendar was blank. More or less. There was the odd afternoon here and the even odder evening there. BUT in the five weeks leading up to Christmas…
- One epic family party
- Two children’s birthdays
- Two Christmas parties we are both invited to
- Another two individual parties (each)
- THREE children’s Christmas parties
- Some random Christmas thingy we do every year
- Two end of year events for the kids sport.
In five weeks, we had not one or two but FIFTEEN individual events. Of course, I do take full responsibility for the two kids birthdays – they’re my kids, and hey I should have twigged at some point that doing married people stuff nine months before Christmas will only lead to one thing. And doing it again? I am an idiot.
All the rest of the stuff, though? Fuck. We ditched three events that aren’t even on the list, and there’s another thing that I was invited to but gave that the arse because fucking hell, fifteen things in five weeks.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually hate Christmas – there’s a few aspects of Christmas that I really like. Things like Christmas cake and pudding and mince pies and shortbread and Baileys. Mmmm Baileys. And there’s the other matter of three days off once you get over Christmas Day. That bit is awesome, and best spent with cake and Baileys. I digress.
However, there is a HELL of a lot of stuff I don’t like… like the way the day itself is imbued with the whole borderline hysterical false importance when, particularly when you’re a secular soul such as my good self, the day itself is basically all about a fancy lunch with presents. Every aspect of the meal gets smeared in significance – it becomes THE Turkey and THE Ham and THE Pork, instead of a selection of cooked meat (which is what it is) plus an assortment of side dishes and puddin and cake.
Don’t even get me started on the whole New Years Eve thing. As soon as the last dish is done from Christmas, it’s all “so, what are you doing for New Year?”Party here and party there… New Years Eve is just staying up late with fireworks and beer. And quite frankly, I think I’m a bit past all that. We got invited to a party on the other side of town – noice. But I have to drive and therefore not drink (don’t even go there. I drive. Reg drinks. Or we taxi. Not happening on NYE.) And to be honest, I don’t think I can be bothered staying up til stupid o’clock on a hot night.
Ok, I got started. But it wasn’t all bad – there was plenty of Baileys and mince pies and all manner of delicious things. And I spent (a little too much) time with my family. And read books. Because what else does one do when one has THREE DAYS OFF WORK!