Tonight I shall not be tracking Father Christmas as he flies through the air visiting all the countries in the world. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I’ll be entertaining others.
It occured to me at some point last week that I don’t remember that (surprisingly unpainful) moment when the jolly (Coca-Cola) giant with his white beard and red suit became someone I didn’t believe in. My nephew is now at that age where he knows Father Christmas doesn’t exist, but he’s not fully sure and thus he has to pretend that he still believes. I think that’s such a magical moment; it’s the moment in life when you realise that you’re a little bit more grow’d up than the previous year, but you know you’ll always be able to experience the magic of Christmas and the myth of Father Christmas just makes it all so much more exciting. What’s the point of life (and Christmas!) if we can’t savour the magic of pretence and child-like belief? Not to mention the presents and the tinsel, the baubles and the (yucky) mince pies, the abundance of alcohol and the Christmas carols.
Yes, even adults can hear that jolly Ho! Ho! Ho! as Christmas approaches.
So, XangaLand … May your Christmas be magical and your tree brimming with delightfully fandangly presents. Enjoy!
Love, KatieF x
The last few days of my life have been miserable and soul-destroying. I don’t think it has anything to do with The Most Depressing Day of the Year – it’s just odd little things that have been getting me down. Still, it’s meant that I haven’t been on my home computer since Monday evening [*gasp*] and thus I’ve just had to delete nearly 1400 junk emails. I usually wade through my junk emails on a daily basis, just to make sure that there aren’t any non-junk emails playing Hide & Seek. However, today I have just thrown caution to the wind and deleted every single one of them without checking – there are only so many times a lay-dee can wonder about the prize her schlong will win her, consider what advantages the huge instrument might truly have, and worry about her account with Abbey being overdrawn when she doesn’t even have an account with Abbey.
I’ve come to a dreadful realisation this week … I’m a Control Freak! Oh. My. God. It’s only taken me thirty-three years to realise this. However, I’m not an overt Control Freak. I’m a subtle Control Freak. I’m so subtle that even I don’t know when I’m being controlling! It worried me [because I worry about everything] for a while, but then I decided it didn’t matter because it doesn’t harm anybody. It seems to go hand-in-hand with my desire for a life based on routine and it affects lots of little things, particularly at home – but also at work when I try to take over things, under the pretence that I like to be helpful and stay busy [when really I want things done my way].
At least it’s something to add to my [if i lived in a world which celebrated these qualities] CV. A Certificate in Basic Skills Control Freaking will look nice when placed next to my Masters in Paranoia, my Diploma in Sarcasm and that one lone GCSE in Moodiness. I’m considering a PhD in either Let’s Take Everything Literally! or, I Don’t Get It.
Of course, my miserable week has had some happy face-brightening moments. The Blokey had an appointment at the hospital in ChavTown today so he kindly picked me up from work. I bought you a present today, he said. Really? gasped I. Yeh. It’s sort of for Valentine’s Day, he smiled. Oooh, what is it? He handed me a piece of paper that he’d printed off the Internet. Yay! said I. Tickets to see Scouting for Girls when they play in maC! That boy knows how to make me happy …
please God bless the blokey for being my blokey xxx Elsabeth