Sunday again. I meant to write yesterday but then I watched Strictly and an old episode of Sherlock and really, those two things can’t be interrupted by intelligent work.
Apparently it’s now just 31 days until Christmas, which apparently I’m supposed to be excited about?
If I get excited now – and there is a teeny tiny part of me that is – I will have used up my Christmas cheer by 12th December. So I am pulling faces at Christmas songs in shops, scowling at house decorations – it is fucking November what is wrong with you people? – and trying to be Scrooge.
This year I will try to finish A Christmas Carol. Have I technically started it if I’ve only ever read a few pages? Don’t answer that.
The only preparation I’ve done is set aside a pot for gift money. Is it just me or are presents a) harder to choose each year and b) more expensive each year?
I mean, I’ve done the group present thing and the DVDs for everyone thing and the posh coffee because we’re all addicted thing. Recently I saw a calendar my brother might have liked but it was about £15, which would’ve eaten up my budget for most of the people I know and it’s not that interesting. Plus there seems to be more people to buy for every year and I don’t even get out much, so I’m taking stock of my friends and working out who will/won’t be offended by a home-made postcard and it’s getting a bit political.
When I was about eight, my aunt took me Christmas shopping and I think I got a gift for three separate people and our dog for £20. Possibly I am looking through time-tinted spectacles at the past. Or possibly that was pre-recession when a five pound note was likely to get you change.
Christ, I’m old aren’t I?