Category Archives: killed by death

2008 it is

Where the fuck did Christmas go?

After my last posting it’s been non-stop running around, eating, drinking, seeing friends and family… it’s been wonderful, so of course the powers that control time and space decide to speed it all up so ones hindsight consists of a blur punctuated by lots of laughing and lost hours in sitting rooms, bars and restaurants amid twinkling soft lights and the ubiquitous honk of pine and candles… then, all of a sudden, it’s gone. Back to work, back to darkness. Bugger.

It’s always worse, afterwards, when one has had a long time away from the ‘do for a living’ and has seriously indulged in lots of fun. Actually, I’ll go one step further, I fucking hate the post Christmas anti-climax, despite not being back to work until today I can feel my mind so adverse to facing the beginning of 2008 that I’m getting perversely obsessed with looking back at the previous fortnight and wishing more than world peace that I was right back there.

Christmas day was spent in harmony with my family, mum dad, brother, sister and the new addition who was better than the post lunch telly. Joining us were my bro-in-law and my bros missus who fell into proceedings like a seasoned pro, the day was perfectly balanced, despite the lack of Myfwt who was with her family in Berkshire. In the evening we left mum, dad and my niece and went off to my sisters to indulge in more serious festivities. Already by Christmas evening the hindsight begins to creep in, a bit like being on borrowed time as I don’t want it to stop, this is made even more pertinent by my birthday which begins at midnight. Like everyone else (or most people depending on how you view Christmas) I’m no fan of Boxing Day. Sods Law then that that is the day I was fucking born.

Of course, after years of being born the day after Christmas I’m used to the inconvenience of it. Mum and dad have always made a special effort to ensure the day suits my requirements, almost as if there is some sort of guilt that it’s their fault, which it is, of course -naturally I don’t hold it against them, that defies logic. I remember on my 30th that they took me down the pub, my mum doesn’t drink (and whilst my dad does, he knows when he’s had enough) but they got me so plastered I vomited the moment I arrived home.

In the last couple of years things have been better. Because most of my friends are holed up with relatives the Boxing Day turn out has usually been disappointing (hence my drinking with my parents on my 30th) but this year there was Myfwt, my bro and his missus, Frank with his and Rick and James, who joined me in the pub after a splendid lunch with the family. Best birthday turn out ever I think… After a pile of ales my bro his missus, Myfwt and James came back to mine to further the evening with wines, James and I put in a 6am special and he left on the 27th utterly fucked out of his tree, hurrah. After a sleep the rest of the day was spent in bed with Myfwt glazed in front of the TV. Lovely. Holiday.

Friday, Myfwt and I drove to Berkshire to visit her family; well some of them, there are lots in her family, she has at least 20 nieces and nephews, and we arrived just in time for lunch. After a freezing cold but wholly exhilarating walk we headed back for London as I had an invitation to meet up with Justin at Daphne’s for dinner. Following an opulent meal in which I ate precisely the same food I’d eaten when I went last time (though I certainly didn’t drink the same champagnes and wines which were the best I’ve tasted in my life, and the most expensive) we headed off to this bar owned by the bloke that yells ‘Maow! Maow!’ at the Russian Roulette scene at the end of The Deer Hunter, and drunk cocktails.

On the Saturday, after another day in town shopping (I’d like to point out here that I rather enjoy going clothes shopping with Myfwt, it’s sort of solace for the soul, if not the wallet) we met up with drinks with Agnes in the Radisson Edwardian Hotel bar and drunk £100 of cocktails by accident. By now the depression of the passing of Christmas had begun to transmute into the awfulness of the New Year ordeal, the single most dreadful day in the calendar in which everyone looks back with cynical disdain / tear inducing hindsight and to the future in wrist-slicing dread / bodged optimism. Sunday was spent in bed recovering from the previous day but Monday was supremely busy as Myfwt and I had been charged with shopping for the evening festivities. We got salmon and oysters and pate and breads, booze, biscuits, sweets and treats, the bloody lot. I made some sauce for the oysters (shallots white wine vinegar and Tabasco) and off we went to the pub to see my bro and his missus in Clapham. After a few ales and much giggling we picked up our stuff and headed over to Den and Rebecca’s for a New Years Eve knees up. It felt terribly grown up us all sitting about nattering, Agnus had joined us to ‘welcome’ in the new year too so there we were, us 5 with a little person fast asleep next door playing Trivial Pursuit and stuffing our faces with booze and goodies. It was a gorgeous night that seemed to pass by at great speed, the next thing I know Myfwt and I were waking up on the sofa bed with Den’s son running about in his pants. We hung abut for a while playing with William, a charming young man who like me is cursed by a too near to Christmas birthday, before eating some breakfast and departing still feeling the effects of the booze. The journey home seemed to take hours, on arrival we both went to bed, but like the trooper I am I got up at 5 in order to sup with Frank at the local, it was New Years Day after all.

The past week has been incredibly busy. Myfwt and I have spent more time shopping -largely this has been to my advantage and I’ve managed to restock some clothing supplies in addition to satisfying my aesthetic-ego- and drinking in various bars with various friends/family in the evening. But the passing week has also been a bit tough on the grey matter. I’ve had such a good Christmas and such a long time away from work the thought of my going back there is enough to induce sobbing. It’s not as if my job is that bad either, I just don’t want to be doing anything but this, that is, not being at work and blowing wads of cash of clothes and drinkies with Myfwt.

Just to stick the knife in it seems that I am finishing the Christmas holiday in the same way I started it, with the shits. And for some incredible reason last night my body decided to be an insomniac, I went to bed at midnight and the last time I looked at my fizzing fucking clock it was 5am. Great.

Happy New Year by the way. Fuck.