Tuesday, December 09, 2008

A whole week since my last blogging. The weather has warmed up a bit - though I'm sitting at the computer with a hot water bottle on my lap and a quilt wrapped round me, I haven't had any adventures, no excitements. I haven't read any books, listened to any groovy new music, watched any new films. I haven't written anything, insulted anybody, had any fights, with anyone I haven't done any evil crap music things over on the other blog, hardly done anything in fact apart from my annual misguided attempt to out stare Christmas in the hope that it will back down and slink away, humbled and defeated, and just disappear...

just fuck off...

just go away...

As normal I have lost; Christmas IS inevitable. (Dammit!)

In admitting defeat I have drawn my first cartoon for weeks - which you'll not be seeing for a bit because it's for this year's family Christmas Card (Phoebe and Tyler only just got last year's Christmas card - and they had to fly 8,000 mile to get it.) This year it almost has a 'seasonal' feel to it, unlike last year's:

Grotto 101
Merry Zmas 2007
Well it made me laugh.

One of the things I hate about this time of year (apart from the cold, the wet and the vast number of parsnips* in the organic veg box) is the imminent arrival of the whole Christmas / New Year's bollocks.
For years I have managed to sidestep the whole Hogmanay nonsense on the grounds that expecting me, as a non-drinker, to endure enforced jollity in the company of insanely pissed, and raucously jovial people is a cruel and unusual punishment that no man should endure - and anyway, someone has to babysit the kids don't they. Goodnight don't get too pissed and don't breath on me when you come home. Happy new year? Whoop de doo. When I wake up on January 1st my nose is usually still running, and my feet are still cold and I know that for the rest of the year everyone is still going to be utter bastards to each other all over the world, no matter how much drink-induced bonhomie the BBC televised from Edinburgh's Royal Mile.

Nya! Fuckit. I'm just turning into an old grouch. My brain stops working in any meaningful way in December. I grind to a halt. This happens to me every year. All I really want to do at the moment is stay in bed with the curtains drawn and eat vast amounts of fat. I want to hibernate. My body just wants to eat butter by the block, miss this bit of the year out all together and Fast Forward to April. Unfortunately for my body I have kids who get up and need feeding (no matter how dark it is outside in the mornings) and who have come to expect Father Christmas to leave them goodies.

And we don't have any curtains in the bedroom.


*The Devil's veg.





Here's the best misplaced apostrophe I have come across in ages. I love this one. Makes my brain hurt trying to work out if there are two simultaneous spelling mistakes going on here or not.





3 comments:

pj said...

In about 11 or 12 days, you'll be in the thick of it.

And on that day you can start telling yourself that every day you'll be seeing a bit more daylight from then on out.

That's how I get myself through it, anyway.

I wish Christmas felt like fun to me again, too...

I find I'm avoiding it by figuring out how to make playlists on Youtube (good for listening mostly!) and immersing myself in Roxy Music for the first time ever.

I'm starting to tire of it a little, though, so I'm trying to think of the next Band I've Never Checked Out But Always Wanted To.

I was thinking of getting bedroom curtains, too. The light is so insulting sometimes.

Roger Frith's family said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Steerforth said...

I'm not a big fan of Christmas. I have no extended family, so there are no hilarious games of charades followed by wholesome walks in the countryside.

I'd be happy with a good film, but I have two young sons and a wife who's determined to give them the perfect childhood, so I have to keep up the pretence.

I've nothing against people having fun. I just don't like the oppressive YOU WILL HAVE FUN ON THIS PARTICULAR DATE concept.

I prefer spontaneity.

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