There's no excuse for my not having posted owt lately. There's my ooh, 20 odd followers disappointed and for what? It's not like there's anything good on telly at this time of year. By the time I've been through the TV Guide, it's time for bed. Nothing anyone usually likes and enjoys is on at Christmas. It all goes terribly highbrow; opera, ballet,five shows about Jane Austen, Dirk Bogarde does Dickens etc. Or it's the other extreme; more gypsies and their National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation caravans or Holly Willoughby gunging somebody on Dave. If Lady Mary hadn't got engaged to Matthew on Downton, I can't think how I'd have coped. I had to fall back on the 70's in the end: The Good Life and Eric and Ernie. Margot told everyone Jerry was ill ('political chicken pox') as Harrods didn't deliver their Christmas. Then they went to Tom and Barbara's, played stupid games and gave them a bull with a bow on. Brilliant.
Stupid games and stupid dancing are extremely important in the festive season even though men must be coerced into both, before their eventual triumph. They win everything, even their most hated Charades, and are required for dipping one on the dance floor. I don't like being 'the man' in any scenario since I was moved from playing Mary to Joseph in the nativity play on account of my 'husky' voice. Nerve. Most affecting. Though I would make an exception if it meant I could drop someone from Senior Management on the ground at the staff do. And of course for my seven year old goddaughter who suggested we re-enact Swan Lake during her sleepover at mine: 'I'll put my leotard on and you lift me like the man does,ok?'
That delightful child was the only houseguest of any note before Christmas. People kept turning up for twenty minutes and keeping their coats on the whole time, protesting that they had to rush off and do their wrapping. It does take a long time right enough, as you can't find where the Sellotape starts or you cut off ten wee bits, stick them to the dining table and you can't find them until you're having lunch with your Easter bonnet on.
Another thing about presents is the increasing evidence of the recession. Shameless passing on of inferior produce from BM Bargains or worse still, the school fair, which specialises in the type of thing worn by the mother in About a Boy. Fortunately everyone I know is far too scared to present me with anything which might be considered quirky or folky. I may have curly hair but there's only one Steve Nicks, let me tell you.
If people weren't talking about wrapping, they were on about The Big Shop which they feel they have to do at just plain weird times, like 7.30am or 10 o'clock at night. I then repeat a favourite family myth of the 'lull' in M and S at teatime during which you swoop in and buy funny-named festive foods like Cornish Cruncher or Plum Duff all round you,without having to wait in a queue directed by a woman called Audrey. It must have all got too much for some dame in my village shops who had never heard of the 'lull'. There was a pile of loose sprouts lying in wait outside the co-op. Perhaps someone slipped and gave them all a good laugh in Accident and Emergency. It would take something to cheer up medical staff-people are always extra ill at Yuletide. I think this is often an excuse not to go out to parties and have to talk to people about wrapping and shopping but sulk in pyjamas in front of Del Boy and Rodney on Gold. This year it seems to have been the pets who were the most afflicted, oddly. I know of two who have been veterinarily hospitalised, running up bills an American ER could be proud of. I only hope this prevented people sending presents and cards on behalf of their dogs and cats 'love Tiddles' and the like, they have confessed to me. They know who they are.
