Bless the soul of those having their own private pre-Xmas The Celebration today. It might take me years to climb that mountain to get onto The road to Mecca; and still it would be easier to commit suicide of the whole idea!
So, here we go again. Only difference this year is that I have gone from chopping trees in forests and ivy decorations down to a single minuscule undecorated skew still green Xmas tree. Place haphazardly on an equally small TV on a table laden with old musty recipe books (they won't even burn).
The other difference is that I did not send out a single Crimbo card (yet. I have come to the conclusion that a) there's nothing wrong with my intentions to buy Xmas cards, but time's been cheating on me b)with global warming and disappearing forests someone ought to stop supporting the criminal act of chopping down trees and c) I haven't even got the money to put a stamp on the envelope and stand in a Paddington-like snail-queue waiting for the postman to wake up next year.
This year I've got a dog and two and a half cats to support. And for mental support, that is to brave my family this year, I had no choice but to invest in my old friend Vino with the lumbering narcotic after-effect of coming round from brain surgery. And a handful of xanors which my sister-in-law provided with sympathy brimming brightly in her tear glands - she understood. Whether it'll be stuffed in the turkey or someone's system...well who knows.
My Chinese rabbit horror-scope said today that the office definitely proves too much for a gentle soul like me's be-calms demeanor... so me's out of here to go and grab a life.