slightly festive

I don’t celebrate Christmas and try hard to avoid the consumer chaos, so this time of year is always a bit strange: I feel there should be something a little special, but am not quite sure why or what.

Some wintry weather might help – there’s nothing like a bright frosty morning for clearing the mind and restoring the spirit. But when I went for a brief walk in the park this morning there was really nothing particularly seasonal, just vast expanses of sodden leaves and an unpleasant amount of mud.
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all over

Well, that’s Christmas over for another year.

Or perhaps not. I suppose that here in the UK the holidays linger on through until tomorrow, although no one really seems to know what Boxing Day is or why we celebrate it, except that it’s the day the Boxing Day sales start and therefore an excuse to rush out and spend yet more money.
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on Christmas Day in the morning

In the beginning was the Word.

nativity scene stained glass
…but for today’s blog post, pictures are enough.

no rush

Well it’s Sunday and it’s Christmas Eve and there seem to be more cars racing down the road outside than ever do during rush hour.

In the supermarket yesterday everyone was dashing around with trolleys piled high. The couple ahead of me in the check out line spent over £500 and I’m sure they weren’t the only ones, though perhaps they were unusual inasmuch as they didn’t shop on line and they paid in cash. I’ve no doubt the shops are just as busy today, too, with everyone desperate to buy last-minute presents and terrified they might not have enough sprouts after all.
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Boxing Day

Yesterday was December 25th, Christmas Day. Which makes today St Stephen’s Day; it’s the second day of Christmas, the day on which my true love sent me a pair of turtle doves, and in the UK it’s also known as Boxing Day.

It’s been a few years since I posted this, so here’s a topical love poem, taken from my collection Around the Corner from Hope Street.

Boxing Day poem

almost over

When I lived in Spain I used to complain about how long the holiday season lasted: it seemed to stretch all the way from the fiestas at the beginning of December until past Twelfth Night.**

Here in the UK, though, much as I was bemoaning the supermarket aisles crammed with marzipan, iced cake and mince pies back in October, Christmas seems to be a bit of a flash in the pan.
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under duress

It’s Christmas Eve and I really would rather be elsewhere – probably not in the local pub where there’s a karaoke evening in full swing, but perhaps in the kitchen where there’s a bottle of something suitably cheap and fizzy, half full or half empty depending on your point of view.

But I have a blog to write.
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