Almost all over by Christmas   Leave a comment

And glasses tinted by the glow from Rudolph’s nose.

Merry Christmas! Oh, it was several days ago? Well, I hope it was merry.

Christmas day always starts too early; I was up at nine, and showered, coffeed and porridged in short order. Because I still had wrapping to do. I finished it only an hour or so after my sister arrived to pick me up and take me to my parents’, so it could have been worse.

Christmas day is odd. You never really seem to do much (at least, as long as you have a Get Out Of Cooking Turkey Free card), but it’s always a long, tiring, and seemingly busy day. This one was no exception, and carried on pretty much as is usual for my family; presents, my uncle turned up, mince pies, sherry, perhaps a few more presents, soup, turkey, presents, Christmas pudding, presents, and then collapsing in front of the telly to watch Dr. Who, avoid EastEnders like the plague, and finish off any yet-unwrapped presents. In the evening I had a nap for an hour whilst everybody watched a programme about an abbey. Usually there would be supper, but everyone was stuffed, so we had a slice of my cake instead.

Dr. Who wasn’t very good, was it? First of all, if the British like World War 2 so much then why don’t they go and live there*. Maybe then they’d realise it involved being poor, hungry, terrified, and getting blown up, shot down, or otherwise dying left, right and centre, and that all those stupid, romantic notions of Blitz Spirit, pulling together, cameraderie, bravery and derring-do are the kind of things that one might comfortably feel if one were separated from it by, say, sixty-five years, rather than living in a country in a state of total war. Also they’d soon realise that a huge number of things they rely on for their day-to-day lives haven’t been invented yet**, but never mind. It was all much better back then, wasn’t it? Not at all like it is now.
Rant aside, the ending didn’t bother to make a great deal of sense either. She’s a mother and therefore strong and she puts a headband on and a forest’s life-energy souls can go into her and she just has to think about home until it HURTS and they’ll all be HOME FOR CHRISTMAS and OH NO DON’T SHOW ME THAT but it does but that very thing rescues daddy so he’s not dead after all because he can follow her through the time vortex and all the tree-spirits have magically gone away and merry Christmas everyone oh fuck off.
And sitting on the lawn is a pristine, museum-quality (and yet “heavily damaged”) Lancaster bomber, with all its propellers carefully aligned (even the one on the broken engine), seemingly having only ploughed about twenty perfectly-straight yards of mud in its emergency, time-vortex-travelling, no-instruments landing.

Unlike Dr. Who, my cake was great. It was lovely and moist (see? Half a pint of brandy was a good thing), and the icing wasn’t Royal so that was good too. Some fruity or nutty bit is a bit crunchy (I blame the currants), but nobody else has complained, so never mind.

Ah yes, the important bit. As the list shows, there were quite a lot of presents being opened. Everybody seemed happy with their haul of loot, which was good. Mine included Forza 4, Snuff by Terry Pratchett, the DS Aliens game, a couple of series of Battlestar Galactica, a track pump for my bike (so I don’t pop the tyres by tugging on the valves so much), the Hairy Bikers’ Pie Bible and a Jamie Oliver book about British food, a milk jug and thermometer for making fancy coffee, loads of chocolates, biscuits, jars and other tasty goodies, and various other bits and bobs that I’d probably mortally offend somebody by forgetting***. Oh, and an IOU for a wardrobe, of course. It was definitely an excellent year for presents.

Eventually it was all over for another year, and the only thing left to do was curl up in bed, have a nice hot drink of rooibos tea, admire the pie bible, and go to sleep.

* Although if one were to read a newspaper around the time of a football match between England and Germany, one could be forgiven for thinking we do.

** Which is quite impressive for a mere sixty-five years. Even a few hundred years ago, sixty-five years’ technological progress would be barely noticable.

*** No, I’m not forgetting that; it’s in a later post. So there!


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