December

What are you doing, reading a blog? It's December.

You should be making a list of things to do. Or crossing things off your list. Or doing something and then putting it on a list so you can cross it off.

All those cards - are you going to send them this year? Mrs Next-door and the old gent up the road are worrying about the cost of postage. Maybe you won't send any, then no one will feel they have to send one to you. But if you don't - they'll think you're mean. Best send one to Auntie Nellie - I thought she'd died - no, not her, she'll go one forever. Phew, cards posted. Look a card from Uncle Jack, he's always early, so sad, he says, about Nellie - why did no one tell me ... and from Phyllis did we send her one, no - well she's your cousin why should I do everything ...

Decorations? Make so much dust, do we really need decorations? Of course, we do, the twinklier the better. Even though twinkles give you a headache. Not got your tree yet? No - quick, make sure it's on the list, we must order one that takes up at least a quarter of the sitting room. And food, don't forget food, mince pies, sausage rolls, never as good as the ones my mother made - get plenty, you'll be feeding thousands (well, December isn't the time to think about all the food that will be left over. But what about all the people who have no money this Christmas - must put an the extra tin in  the food bank. And check out the person up the road, living alone - even if she likes living alone and is quite happy in front of her own fire, thank you, but you can't have that can you. Not at Christmas.

Oh heck, I haven't closed that bracket yet. )

Meanwhile, the children - What is this thing they're asking for - Octonauts - we played with dolls and train sets in my day. Batteries, must buy batteries. Everything needs batteries these days. And sings or flashes or crawls along the floor. Daft, when the kids end up playing with the boxes. Next year, I swear, I'll go to the supermarket and get them a box. Now what are Octonauts again? How did you say we were going to explain three Father Christmases in the High Street?

Wrapping paper. I nearly forgot wrapping paper. Get an extra roll. Though there's never enough.

All this and you've still got real work to do - work can't come to a stop just because it's December. Shops and offices and schools and hospitals and oil rigs and taxi drivers - Christmas is no excuse for slacking you know. You have to cook something for the office party. Can't I buy it? No - if Jilly from HR can manage to cook and her a single parent with six kids then I'm sure you can. Don't forget the secret Santa (what can you possibly buy for that bloke from accounts with the face like a dog's bottom?).

Yes, I know my pronouns are muddled in this post. What makes you think I have time to read it through?

So what little beacon of light keeps you going in the middle of all this?