Nothing (much) To Report

I’m not a fan of this end of the year. (Can’t say the beginning nor middle hold any particular thrill for me either.) It’s not simply because of a certain hijacked pagan celebration, but it doesn’t help that it is coupled with the other depression-inducing events such as the turning of the year, the birthdays, the short, grey days. I’m not a SAD-type, but I am a sad git.

I have one friend who isn’t religious in the slightest but loves Christmas and feels it’s her duty to force some festive spirit into me. It won’t work. I don’t cope well with being forced to be merry, but then who does?
I did used to like tinsel, and sparkling lights (in moderation!) and the odd mince pie, but that was last year. All merriment has totally passed me by this time around. A few years ago, when mum was first in hospital, I fully swung into the spirit of the season, baking chrimbo cake and mince pies, enthusiastically decorating and generally taking charge of everything. It all fell flat when no one was impressed by my efforts; other thoughts were at the top of the agenda and my nest-making wasn’t noticed.

Shopping: I hate it. Pretty much all year round, with or without others in tow. Online shopping whilst relatively toe-crushingly free has its limitations, like added postage costs or having to wait ages to get the item that you actually need right now, only to find out two weeks later that they’re all sold out.

Real world shopping is far worse when you have company. By myself I can meander and linger as I please. I don’t have to inform anyone of my whereabouts, I don’t have to stand around waiting for someone else whilst they stare at something similar to which they were staring at three minutes ago. I don’t have to try on every shoe/top/skirt in the shop. I rarely ask anyone else’s opinion on whether or not I should buy a specific item, and I completely avoid the dreaded ‘how do I look?’ quizzing.

Having spent my entire life in such a puny city, travelling to a Proper City to engage in the torture known as shopping is frankly a massive shock to the system. Last year I was dragged around Birmingham for the first time and successfully avoided being trampled on, lost in the crowd and spending any money, all despite the best efforts of my companions. I was, however, scolded like a child to which the only appropriate action to take in response was to sulk, which I did quietly, to myself. I’ve really lost the knack of that.

For possibly the first in a very long time, if ever, I have an almost packed diary. But it only lasts 4 days. Tomorrow shall be the 2nd Annual Pre-Christmas Farmers Market Shopping Trip; followed by the far less interesting and intensely annoying dash around the local Asda. I shall be grumpy and my feet sore by evening time, but then I’m to have a meal with my festive-loving friend. Something Italian, I think, which in this city doesn’t mean much. During proceedings I shall be presented with my Christmas card, birthday card and birthday/Christmas present, expect it isn’t a birthday gift any more. The law has been laid down and I’m only to accept it in homage to the three kings and their gift-bearing. Which is a bugger. I fail to see why I should be forced to take part in a festival that is part of a religion that I don’t believe in. But that’s just nitpicking, cos the whole religion bit has been sucked out of Christmas, which suits retailers and my friend, and my brother, who likes nothing more than to show off how much of a disposable income he has by buying extravagantly expressive presents for everyone.
Chance of alcohol consumption?: 50%.

Saturday will require more walking around shops, but there is a glorious break to the monotony of shopping with a lunch enjoyed in the company of a far more festively-sensible friend. (To that person: yes, the week has dragged on, but it’s almost over!!)
Chance of alcohol consumption?: pretty much guaranteed, but in limited quantities. Walking home and restricted funds force the matter.

Sunday, is well, yeah, that day. I’m going to try to spend as much of it in bed. I predict that I’ll be described as a Scrooge at least once by my brother; and I will be generally under-whelmed by presents, food and tv and shall look forward to going back to bed. Unless I do something very unpredictable, from the family’s point of view anyway, and leave the house. I’m sure that a walk around in empty streets will suit me better.
Chance of alcohol consumption?: it’s a given that sherry and wine will be supped. English Breakfast Tea to start; sherry at 11am; the wine with dinner, and after dinner; maybe a coffee at some point; beer perhaps in the evening; water, water and water again at 5am-ish.

Monday brings a trip down to Somerset to spend the majority of the day with the aunts and uncles, and perhaps a cousin or two. I suspect that a cold buffet and masses of wine, mulled or homemade, will be offered. Hugs, stories and memories, coughs and colds and laughs will also be shared.
Chance of alcohol consumption?: pft! Ridiculous question.

Tuesday I’m planning a day off, for my liver.

This very short post was inspired by that Reynolds bloke, not that he would ever know it.

Alabama 3 are the best post-drinking, pre-sleep band in the world. Or something. I can’t simply zonik straight out after wee beer session. I need to allow my inner ear to calm down and stop sending any strange messages to the part of my brain that makes me want to vomit. Not that I get to that sort of state every single time I drink, just occasionally. (Yes, I *do* beer now, how things change.) I’m not encouraging binge or any other sort of excessive drinking, merely the purchasing of quality music. Alcohol is something you can live without, music is quite a different matter.

I’ve also come to realise that their music is the perfect antidote to the Monday morning (or any other shitting day) blues. As to the definitive song to wake up to… I haven’t quite figured that one out yet.

No mp3 player of any description for me, with it’s tinny, allowing-wax-to-build-up in-ear ‘phones that’ll probably give me some sort of lovely ear infection, oh no! I “make do” with a five cd changing hifi and full-ear, slightly-blown Panasonic headphones. There’s nowt quite like knowingly self-destroying your own hearing, especially when you’re saving others’. I’ll put my headphones on rather than disturbing anyone else in the house, I’m that considerate, or it could be due to the fact that I’m a tad ashamed of some of my musically choices. I’ll even put them on when no one is about and also, most importantly, when my brother is banging his girlfriend a few feet away.