My husband is fast asleep on the settee. I’m not sure if he’s suffering from restless leg syndrome or just letting his foot jig along to the music I’m subjecting his drooling state to.
(Robbie Williams, if you’re interested.)
I had no intention of writing a post on Christmas Day itself, but we’re being lazy (in preparation for two consecutive days of familial mayhem, which will begin with a visit to dialysis at 6.30 in the morning) and EastEnders doesn’t start for another twenty or so minutes.
I was a tad irked earlier in the week, but that simply serves me right for allowing myself to read the ridiculous views of ridiculous people on Have Your Say (which can be found on the BBC website, somewhere.) I love Christmas. I love buying and receiving presents. I love watching other people open presents. I love clapping my hands in excitement and giggling like a child. The anticipation and exhilaration that Christmas brings is a truly fabulous feeling, despite the fact that it doesn’t last long. I spend Christmas Eve wanting to desperately open my presents, and Christmas Day putting it off as long as possible.
And I hate (or maybe not quite, but pretty close) those people who spout forth with silly things about giving their money to charity to save the world by not buying cards, or who give vouchers or money, or who proclaim that some adults are childish for expecting presents when presents should only be for children.
Sheesh folks! Who took your sense of wonder and stamped on it?
I have nothing else to say. The Champagne is making me sleepy.
Merry Christmas!
