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Entry tags:
Bah, Humbug
For the good of my mental health, I decided three or four years ago that I would either spend Wombtide alone or with friends, on the principle that you can choose your friends. I do the family before or, more usually, after Christmas, in fact often after New Year when it feels safer.
This year I'm flying solo. I get to decide when to get up. I get to decide when to eat. I get to decide what to eat. I get to decide what to watch. I'm in charge. The doors are locked, the curtains shut, the drawbridge raised. A walk may be involved at some point, if I choose (and if I decide against watching Gone With the Wind). My present to me is me time.
Touchingly two people have offered me their family Christmas - but I've refused. I'm frankly escaping one family,* so I don't want to replace it with another. And I'm going to be at a disadvantage as I'll be ultra polite and I don't have the history of knowing which buttons to press when the fights start. And I'm no doubt going to collide with their stupid traditions which won't match my stupid traditions.
A couple of years ago I had to fight to avoid being dragooned into somebody else's family Christmas - especially as I had the sense that I was there to be a firebreak between the friend and their family. After a goodly deal of argument I compromised on going for a drink in the late afternoon - only to find all the pubs were shut and the County Hotel was the only place selling alcohol. It just felt all too awkward.
So I have a pheasant in the freezer, potatoes, brussels, ingredients for stuffing and bread sauce, parsnips, gravy and I'm all set. I have series 9 of Seinfeld, and plenty more to follow (all of Monty Python, two series of The Mighty Boosh...) and perhaps a house guest for the day after Boxing Day. Who knows, there may even be a pub open Boxing Day afternoon. Or I might just find time to sit and write.
* I don't hate my family. It's just that my role is to spoil the day by objecting to being picked on because I should be above such things and sticks and stones etc. My role is to be chipper, and I get cabin fever if I'm forced back into it.
This year I'm flying solo. I get to decide when to get up. I get to decide when to eat. I get to decide what to eat. I get to decide what to watch. I'm in charge. The doors are locked, the curtains shut, the drawbridge raised. A walk may be involved at some point, if I choose (and if I decide against watching Gone With the Wind). My present to me is me time.
Touchingly two people have offered me their family Christmas - but I've refused. I'm frankly escaping one family,* so I don't want to replace it with another. And I'm going to be at a disadvantage as I'll be ultra polite and I don't have the history of knowing which buttons to press when the fights start. And I'm no doubt going to collide with their stupid traditions which won't match my stupid traditions.
A couple of years ago I had to fight to avoid being dragooned into somebody else's family Christmas - especially as I had the sense that I was there to be a firebreak between the friend and their family. After a goodly deal of argument I compromised on going for a drink in the late afternoon - only to find all the pubs were shut and the County Hotel was the only place selling alcohol. It just felt all too awkward.
So I have a pheasant in the freezer, potatoes, brussels, ingredients for stuffing and bread sauce, parsnips, gravy and I'm all set. I have series 9 of Seinfeld, and plenty more to follow (all of Monty Python, two series of The Mighty Boosh...) and perhaps a house guest for the day after Boxing Day. Who knows, there may even be a pub open Boxing Day afternoon. Or I might just find time to sit and write.
* I don't hate my family. It's just that my role is to spoil the day by objecting to being picked on because I should be above such things and sticks and stones etc. My role is to be chipper, and I get cabin fever if I'm forced back into it.