Happy Christmas

Wishing you a peaceful, warm, healthy and happy Christmas/Yule...

This makes me cry (in a good way)

Fug

My head is full of phlegm. I cannot think. I have done some emailing, a bit of admin, had a work conference call (am working at home) and wrote one Christmas card. I feel too guilty to go to bed, though. And too worried about three looming deadlines.

Sometimes, being self-employed stinks.

Christmas?!

One of the magazines that I have subscribed to dropped through my letterbox this morning. I was appalled to see a leaflet for 'Christmas subscription offers' enclosed.

Are they mad?

Januaryness

I am not earning much money at the moment and December's various tax bills and Christmas have not helped my cashflow situation but nevertheless I feel surprisingly OK. I have a large business expense (my accountant's fee) to pay this week, which is worrying, and if I want to keep up with kung fu and pay my share of the household bills, I need to find some extra cash pronto.

I'm being frugal but what's the point of falling into a worry hole? I've been doing practical things to try to get more work but it's a pleasant change for me to have time, precious time, in which to consider my direction and to approach the people for whom I really want to work.

It's strange. Most people I know detest January but I like it. It always comes with the feeling of newness and promise. I don't like the ridiculous money-fest of some people's Christmases, where it's 'buy buy buy' no matter what. The season of no reason. And I like my socialising to be spread out a bit rather than concentrated in a mad fortnight that results in exhaustion and the common cold.

So, here's to January. A good time to pull back on the reins and admire the view so you can conserve a bit (of energy and money) and perhaps see where you are going...

Strange moaning

When I have a bad throat – a really bad, sore throat that is accompanied by a cough – I groan while sleeping. It stops me from coughing. Somehow, and luckily, S sleeps through it.

I was in bed last night, still in the throes of this annoying throat/chest virus thing, when I heard S get up. I figured it must have been because I was doing my strange moaning. I felt ill, though. My stomach was aching and I was very nauseas but couldn't bring myself to move from bed. I did that thing where you breathe deeply and slowly, and swallow down saliva, and repeat... I must have gone on like that for hours.

Ah, I should have mentioned that there is a dead mouse (or possibly two of the blighters) beneath the floorboards in our bedroom. The stench is vile. We aim to get pest control out as soon as we can. No mice have been seen anywhere, so I must assume that they have been living downstairs primarily, in GFG's place, and then head up to the ceiling to breathe their last.

Anyway, S eventually headed back to the bedroom, took a step inside and then retched when he smelled the decaying mice/mouse (I had managed to stay in the room thanks to the effects of my heavy cold; S's mum was staying in our other bedroom so we weren't able to decamp there).

S was very poorly. It turned out we had food poisoning, with S succumbing to the worst of it. He looks so little when he is ill, like a young boy. As it turned out, he hadn't left the bedroom because of my strange moaning but due to the washing machine that was his stomach. He hasn't been well since. We went out briefly today to get some air (the kitchen now also smells of ex-mouse – great!), but mostly sat in cafés like a pair of squeezed lemons.

What a combination – me with my ongoing Christmas cold, S poisoned by sausages... Just spoke to my friend, V, who is sneezing and spluttering.

'Tis the season to be unwell, it seems...

Merry Christmas one and all

Should be in bed, but like a small child, I have woken up and am in the kitchen. My eyes are tired, yet I can't sleep. I want Father Christmas to take away my cough/cold, which has made slumber impossible.

I am seeing whether manuka honey stirred into hot water will help.

It is December 25th. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a peaceful, happy New Year.

It's Christmas, be happy!

My supermarket visit today was not relaxing. Sometimes, when I am working at home and can get there early, it is fairly quiet when I arrive. On such occasions, there is time to read the labels and scan shelves. Weirdly for some, I enjoy doing this.

But today, the place was packed with people impatiently pushing trolleys down aisles populated by those who hadn't had the foresight to make a list and loitered annoyingly, oblivious to the dozen people stuck in their wake of indecision. I carried a basket and a small shopping list but managed to fill it so that I could only lift it if I used both of my kung fu-strengthened arms.

All the checkouts were open so I put my basket down behind a grey-haired woman who was buying a feast's worth of goods and remembered that I had forgotten to but the stuff you pour down the plughole to get the water to flow faster. In the minute I was gone, the feast-buyer still had plenty on the conveyor belt but a youngish woman had wheeled her trolley up. When I slipped in to where my basket was – in its legitimate place in the queue – she snapped: "You shouldn't do that!" And thus ensued a ridiculous conversation where this sad, lumpy woman, who looked as though she sucked lime for pleasure, kept on and on about it. How, oh, the world would end if everyone did that. And, oh, how it would stop global warming if I hadn't left my basket there for sixty seconds. (Almost.)

I told her to stop being so rude and added that I couldn't be bothered to speak to her. I was amazed that such a non-happening could arouse her pique. She really must have a life devoid of any real problems if she could spare the energy to act like such a silly fool over nothing. The most ironic part was when she said: "It's Christmas, be happy!" with a scowl on her face.

I shook my head in disbelief and she changed aisle. A lovely old man with sparkly eyes and a smile then unpacked his things behind me. The woman watched from the corner of her eyes as we enjoyed some banter and laughed.

* * *

This song sends shivers down my spine. It makes me cry, every time.

RIP SS's mum. RIP Kirsty MacColl.

Sorrow

A good friend found out today that his mother has died.

A total shock. SS's mum, M, lived at the other end of England. Her friend couldn't get hold of M and called her son today, during the tail-end of our Christmas lunch. I'd just left but a mutual friend called me as I was on the bus and said that SS had had a call and that he'd rushed off – we live close to one another so she knew it was likely that he'd visit me and S over Christmas. We'd planned an evening of mulled wine, mince pies and games for Saturday. I'd planned to call SS tomorrow but he sent me a text message in reply to my 'please let me know how your mum is', which arrived during the surreality of my kung fu class.

The police broke the door down and found his poor mum. We had been talking about her a lot yesterday and today. He was brought up by her and has no siblings. They were due to spend Christmas together. He is driving up to his mother's place now. God...

He hasn't wanted/ been able to talk yet, and I don't feel as though I've been able to think of anything useful to say in my messages to him.

Christmas events two, three and four

I know it's lazy. I know I said I'd write an entry for each event. But I am far too tired... And, to add to my lazy behaviour, I shall write a synopsis rather than a lengthy account for each. There is probably only so much one can say about Christmas parties, anyway.

* * *

Well, number two was a good night – it was spent at a very good curry house with 12 friends, including S. We ate a lot, drank a reasonable amount (I stuck to my quality-not-quantity-Champagne quaffing) and people laughed frequently, which pleased me as I had organised the meal.

People seemed to enjoy it more than they perhaps anticipated, which I think is better than expecting a wonderful time and feeling the slump of disappointment when it doesn't meet hopes. I wore my silver dress, which attracted a few comments. Seems that it was worth the mad hunt to track one down in my size.

* * *

Event number three was a large lunch party that fell short of the mark, mainly because it was at a Chinese restaurant and I have never been keen on Chinese food. The party – at one of the best restaurants in London, apparently – failed to impress me. Also, I was not in a great mood for the event, having been slightly arm-twisted by a friend who wanted me to go with her, as she would not have known anyone else at the lunch otherwise.

As it turned out, several people we knew were there and we sat with them and some strangers who quickly proved friendly and humorous. But I was glad to get home into my warm rooms, where I kicked off my boots, climbed out of my skinny jeans and relaxed, tiredness seeping from every pore. It has been so very cold of late... Being home was like being back in the womb.

* * *

Event four was a traditional, posh Christmas dinner, courtesy of one of my major clients/employers. Out came the (clean) silver dress again, attracting comments, including the bizarre, scowling: "If I tried to get into that dress it would come down to my ankles, but you are so tall and slim. You're such a fucking bitch." Thanks. So are you.

I was taken aback that this woman who barely knew me has spat out such a back-handed, erm, compliment. There was no irony or humour. But she was effusive in her 'good morning' to me this morning, whereas in the past she has bordered on the monosyllabic. A friend, who was considering employing this woman, was shocked, and suggested the comment was based on jealousy. How old are we?!

The 'fucking bitch' woman has stepped very neatly over my tolerance line with her charmless mouth. I had noticed (but not cared) that she excludes me from conversations – makes eye contact with everyone but me – although I have always been friendly to her... Don't really like being spoken to like that. This young lady should remember that what goes around comes around, and I know quite a few people who could give her work (or not).

S gave me and a friend of ours a lift home, which was brilliant and lovely of him. It would have been a very long, very cold night otherwise, as we all live on the other side of the capital. The silver dress is not conducive to a temperature of zero.

Fight afterwards, yeah?

That's what several of my kung fu club friends have said to me. We are going out tonight for a meal at a very nice restaurant. We're meeting in a bar first, then possibly going to one afterwards, too. But what has made me laugh is the number of people who have jested about having a fight once the desserts have gone down.

I don't intend to fight, of course. I'm not quite that obsessed with kung fu, and I haven't become a street-fighting wench. I will keep score if others wish to fight (they won't – they're actually all nice people) but if certain friends could see me now, scaring classmates, talking fighting talk and managing to get in some quick hits with much glee, they would probably think I have a secret twin.

* * *

My pet rabbit is stretched out in her soft bed, looking at me with her liquid brown eyes. Goodness, that creature is the epitome of gentleness. Utterly sweet. The animal manifestation of molasses, velvet, a fluffy hot water bottle and magic dust.

Christmas event one

OK, so I'm back home already and compos mentis enough to write my blog, but I did go to a party from fairly early on this evening, where I drank Champagne. I had a few canapés as well – they were OK, not enough to soak up the few drinks I had, though, so I'm eating bread and honey now.

I wore my high-heeled black suede boots and my sixties silvery shift dress. I liked the result.

Plenty of S's colleagues were at the posh bar (it was a work-related event hosted by his workplace). It was good to see the ones I knew, funny to see the ones I'd only ever just heard about, and interesting to meet a few new people, too.

I realised yesterday that I had nearly 10 events to go to over the ensuing fortnight. These will be detailed in this blog. Going to the party has made me feel festive. I think I'll put the decorations up at the weekend.

People, people, everywhere, and not one stops to think

... or do they? They probably do. People.

It's funny, watching people Christmas shopping today, I wondered what it was all about, whether we are just bigger mice on bigger wheels. Signs said: 'Want it, Need it, Buy it'... And people, they bought and bought. It took an age to even get near the car park, let alone find a space. Why was I there? To buy some cards and a birthday gift. I could have waited until tomorrow and done that in my lunchtime. Ah, well.

Not many stopped to listen to the brass band playing (beautifully) in the store. They started with 'Joy to the World', then went through to my favourite carol, 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman', which makes me think of Dickensian Christmases.

On another note, I have fallen in love with Oxford. I had never been there until this weekend. The quadrangles with their perfect lawns, the tall yellow stone, the wood, the towers, the bells, took me back to dreams I had as a child, of spires, studying, silence and secret places. Christ Church was open to visitors – the hall was just lovely, with its huge Christmas tree, and the grounds near Merton College were bathed in tranquility. Utterly gorgeous.
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Listening to: Editors - The Racing Rats

The dress

Well, I went out and got a dress to wear for the festive parties I have agreed to attend. It was remarkably quiet in the shops – there were parking spaces and none of the crush I had expected.

I looked in several shops and eventually happened upon a dress I liked – a champagne-coloured, beautifully cut number in a heavy material with a criss cross of straps at the back. As much as I loved it, it couldn't imagine it surviving those occasions without getting splattered with wine or food. If they had had it in scarlet or black, I would have bought it immediately.

Anyway, it was getting colder so I stepped up my hunt and came across one of very few dresses that didn't look like a tunic/tent. It's a lined silk satin number with beads around the neck and falling into a drape around the bust, with the waist and skirt cut on the bias, ending above the knees. It's gorgeous, elegant and striking (the picture does it no justice), and when I tried it on, it managed to detract from my coldy eyes and tired pallor. It is now in my wardrobe, waiting...

I also bought merino wool tights and a thick-knit cream merino wool zip-up cardigan to wear in the office in which I am based – they just can't keep the temperature constant and I often sit there in three layers and a scarf. Not good. Anyway, all I need now is for the postman to bring me a cheque from two companies that haven't paid me for a while, and I shall rest easier knowing that when Mr Mastercard pops round again, he will be sent away satisfied.

Save the date

I received an email yesterday. It was prettily decorated with pictures of shiny red baubles and candles and chocolate.

It was an invitation to a Christmas party, telling me to 'save the date'. Heavens. First, it was the (increasingly large range of) festive biscuits and selection boxes in late August, Christmas cards in September, and now, I must start thinking about what to wear for this bash. Apparently.

I am too tired to make a fuss. I'll just get my diary and save the date.

Christmas

Yes, in Sainsbury's there are selection boxes. Selection boxes. As in Christmas. Christmas selection boxes. There were also shiny boxes of biscuits – the kind you only ever see at Christmas.