It's only 21 days til Christmas. TWENTY-ONE, do you realize?
There's gin and bubbly in the cupboard.
I have two of my favourite authors hidden so I can't read them until the day.
I have one of my favourite stories, The Wind in the Willows, ready to watch on a new dvd I was lucky to find on ebay.
I have bought exactly one present.
I do have several lined up waiting to be sewn but I keep changing the colours. I'll have to stop, time is running out. Still there's nothing wrong with a New Year unexpected gift.
All I have to do is survive the Residents Christmas party and the Residents Christmas dinner.
Fortunately, Christmas Day is three days from the full moon.
Every year it feels less like a celebration and more like a memory and some of those memories I'd like to forget.
I'll be really upset this year if the ex doesn't send me an email of his garishly decorated abode including The Blonde with her nose so bright (a fondness for Christmas booze) hanging off the rooftop.
He was no slouch at the nose so bright either, having been born on the 24th which meant he was pissed from that day until January 2nd.
I didn't manage to get the Christmas brooch tree up for this year but that's okay there's no room for it in the mess of boxes that are cluttering up the lounge because I'm still trying to organize my mess from the BOH's mess. My Christmas wish is for them to get a house and move it all away.
I don't have a Christmas wish for me, I've lived another 12 months, it's a gift.