Tuesday, 6 January 2009


Well, let put it this way, I’m beginning to think that Scrooge had the right idea.

I have officially got to the stage of my life where I understand how much work goes into it. The shopping and the drinking, and the socialising. The food, the cooking of the food, cleaning the house, decorating, Christmas cards, Christmas emails. Even dressing in the morning is harder, ‘oh I can’t wear that I need to look nice!’ It’s funny how an outfit that is suitable for the rest of the year is now suddenly not so suitable. It’s exhausting!

In addition to all this you have the examination of your life that is suddenly thrown into focus. Your family want to know about work, work want to know about your family. Everyone wants to know what your plans are, will you be with that certain someone or relegated back to Mummy and Daddy’s. Maybe you are the Mummy or Daddy in which case your Christmas planning skills are looked into. How good is your family Christmas? Do you have a boyfriend yet? When’s the wedding? Kids? How’s your job? Where are you living? Questions! Questions! QUESTIONS!!! Christmas is the time when everyone and anyone seem to think they entitled to an insight into your life, whether it is a pushy relative or a nosey colleague.

So you can imagine, dealing with all of this stress levels are already high. Come Christmas day, it’s like putting it all in a big pressure cooker and waiting it to go off with pretty red and green sparks. Of course by pressure cooker I mean The Family.

(Family + Alcohol) x Enclosed Space = Stress

You can picture it, I’m sure; the cooks are snippy because the prep is boring, repetitive and tiring. The place is a mess, there is stuff everywhere: cards, decorations, gifts, wrapping paper. Worst of all is the ‘Christmas’ mentality. You feel obliged to all stay together, as it would un-christmassy to go to you room, as a result everyone is milling around, bored, making small talk and drinking.

There’s the father I barely speak to asking bland questions and making bad jokes; the return of the prodigal son with solutions and pompous advice a plenty; finally the mother, with plenty of stress induce bitchiness. Clearly the only solution is to drink, and drink copiously, things are easier to handle when everything is a little fuzzy around the outside.

Finally as one last grievance, in my opinion the only way to eat turkey is with mayo in a sandwich. In a roast dinner, it’s dry and tasteless. Who decided that every year you should have turkey, I have no idea, it was probably a man, they always go for size over everything else.

That’s it, I’ve decided, next year Christmas IS CANCELLED!

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