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.
Continue reading “under duress”
I’ve never been much of a one for parties and events, so don’t usually have to worry about juggling a diary full of Christmas lunches and business gatherings, and coping with burning the candle at both ends, with breakfast meetings following hard on the (high) heels of fancy meals and late night drinks.
This year, though, the holiday season celebrations seem to have started early and for some reason I am more involved than ever before.
Continue reading “senseless”
I mentioned a while back that my poetry is full of references to light, whether it’s fireworks, stars, moonshine or street lamps, so I suppose it’s unsurprising that, however little attention I pay to Christmas in other respects, I enjoy seeing the festive lights and decorations around the streets and in people’s windows.
Continue reading “enlightening and entitling”
I’m fairly sure I won’t write on the blog again before Christmas – though I am quite likely to spend far too much of the day itself on the computer so there may be a post then – which is one reason for the post title. The other reason is that if you haven’t already sent your cards, they probably won’t arrive in time for the 25th unless you get to a post office tomorrow and pay extra for Special Delivery.
When I went online to find about about dates for rubbish collections, I didn’t expect the local Council to have gone into the fortune-telling game.
It seems, though, that my future is all sewn up.
What’s worse, these upcoming ‘rubbish Fridays’ include not only Christmas Day, but the first day of 2016, so the New Year will get off to a bad start.
I think it’s time for the first Bah, humbug! of the season.
don't confuse the narrator 