Christmas is coming along at an alarming rate, and I stupidly braved the shops this morning in an attempt to grab a couple of bits and pieces. It was madness. These were terrible times, my friends. I joined the throng of shoppers, barrelling around the stores clutching bags and money and lists. There was pushing and shoving and body odour. I don’t need it as much now but I still tend to take my crutch with me when I’m shopping, mainly because I’ve discovered people are slightly less shovey if you look like you have a weapon or disability.
Here is a funny thing:
Every single time I pass a Santa at the shops, they make eye contact and ask me how I am. I of course answer with “Good thank you Santa, how are you?” and we chat over the fence surrounding his little village. It’s a brief exchange but I quite like it, and if I was a little more photogenic I would most likely pose with him.
One year I saw an ad in the local paper, advertising for Santas. So I found a bell and I rang the number and when they answered, I let out a massive HOHOHO! while ringing my bell. I didn’t get the job but I did get a laugh. Which paid less than the actual job would have, in that it paid nothing.
Our tree is up:
I’ve dug out my two special Christmas decorations – the nativity that my besty gave me, and my Nan’s Christmas Wreath. Nan’s wreath is a thing of wonder. I haven’t seen them in the shops for years and years, and I suspect that is because they induced violence. Santa has a sensor in his head, and when you get within a metre of him he bellows out Christmas carols and yuletide greetings. After ten minutes, my beloved had asked me to please turn it off. Scouty barked at it and it frightened Zelda. But I love it. I haven’t told my beloved but I have a secret tradition of seeing how long I can leave a wreath up on the door for. The besty and I managed 6 months one year. I have a hunch I may not get too far past Christmas with my beloved around.
My Nan also had that beautiful spidery writing that old ladies develop, and I have her Christmas pudding recipe written in her hand, on the back of a Cornflakes box. Just trying to work out if I am motivated enough to turn the house into a sweatbox in her honour – I think I am. But it’s an effort, that pudding. Lucky it’s delicious.
One last little pre-Christmas story for you: My sister and I never really recovered from the revelation that my parents were helping Santa. When they told us that they were going to give us presents from them instead of helping Santa, my sister and I agreed that this was terrible. So we became Santa. We spend most of the year sending texts to each other saying things like “Santa got you two presents today!” and “If Santa bought you a singlet, what size should he get?” and so on. Then we unwrap them n less time than it takes to wrap the gifts and we love it and we laugh and giggle and think of each other all year because we are always looking for gift ideas for Santa, and isn’t that the best? That we think of each other. She’ll kick me for being sappy when she gets back from Vanuatu.
Tell me your favourite Christmas tradition. I bloody love Christmas. Do you?