FFS...is it really christmas again?!!
On the twelfth Day of Christmas, my handbag gave to me...
'Elf on the shelf' is so last christmas...Time to up the ante!
On the twelfth Day of Christmas, my handbag gave to me...
My handbag used to be a place of womanly guile, mystery & wonder - home to all manner of exquisite, beguiling but undeniably useful paraphernalia.
Delicious scents in a palm-sized atomiser, posh powder and industrial-grade concealer, luscious lippies and emergency spare tights.
"You look like you need an Alka-seltzer. Here you go, Pet..."
"Mini-screwdriver? I got ya!"
Things are decidedly different these days. I barely dare put my own hand in my handbag. It's like a Bush-tucker Challenge on some nasty reality TV show. Christ only knows what you will pull out. If it's brown and sticky though, chances are it's NOT a stick. And don't even ask how long it's been there. About 7 years is probably a good ballpark guess. Grim.
Chrimbob: An annual celebration of the Three wise men*!
'Elf on the shelf' is so last christmas...Time to up the ante!
On the twelfth Day of Christmas, my handbag gave to me...
Christmas is a time for family. For giving and sharing. For magnanimity and love...
Fuck that shit. It's primarily a time for a not giving a shit about how appropriate it might not be to eat stilton, pate and mince pies on a cracker for breakfast. Together. And fist chocolate orange segments into your pie hole in your festive penguin pyjamas. All washed down with a G&T, because nothing says 'Merry Christmas' like daytime drinking. Who cares if it's still November?!?
*For those of non-UK provenance, or just a tad classier than me – 'Jacobs', 'Gordons' and 'Terrys' are famous brands of (respectively) cheese biscuits, London gin and a peculiarly English orange-shaped chocolate delight, without which no Santa's stocking would be complete!
'Elf on the shelf' is so last christmas...Time to up the ante!
'Elf on the shelf' is so last christmas...Time to up the ante!
'Elf on the shelf' is so last christmas...Time to up the ante!
Full disclosure, we never did EOTS. Partly because I am too lazy, and partly (OK mostly) because here, where we are raising our kids, the Catholic Church one-upped the passive-aggressive plastic elf comically straddling Barbie on the bureau at breakfast centuries ago.
Here an actual living dude comes round in early December dressed in flowing red robes and accompanied by a gang of macabre and scruffy, dark henchmen with big threshing sticks and hessian sacks, menacingly brandished to imply the potential beating and kidnapping of all naughty children.
I can see your face – Yes. Really. And Yes – I know. You can read more here. We have great cheese though. And the skiing is a ball, so....
santa's lactose intolerant, sweetheart. much prefers a G&T.
Christmas – A time for family, friends & painfully awkward silences
'Elf on the shelf' is so last christmas...Time to up the ante!
When I say 'lactose intolerant', that's more a composite condition of hating milk and being temperamentally challenged, than an actual inability to digest milk proteins. And by bedtime on the 24th December (fuck me though. It has been time you little buggers were a-bed since ten past bastard lunchtime...) Mummy is most DEFINITELY starting to lose her shit with the obligatory Christmas cheer and forced festive frivolity – the most wonderful time of the year otherwise known medically as IBS (Irritable Bitch/Bastard Season).
And you cherubs thoughtfully pour me a glass of lukewarm milk.
AAAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGGHHHHHHHH. That is all.
Yes, I love you to the moon and back, and yes, my horrible ingratitude and entitled selfishness shall be punished with mortal damnation for eternity and ever more.
But still. Milk?!? Sob.
It's beginning to look a lot like fuck it-mas!
Christmas – A time for family, friends & painfully awkward silences
Christmas – A time for family, friends & painfully awkward silences
And there it is.... the clocks have gone back, it's permanently dark, and the weather is gloomier than Liz Truss's job prospects. On top of that, the kids are tripping their tits off on a million Tangfastics and jelly eyeballs – arguing ferociously like a pack of feral dogs over their ill-gotten Hallow'een gains. As if it fucking matters, when they have a mound of sugary loot high enough to dwarf the heap of minging washing still languishing in the hallway diffusing a heady mix of bonfire smoke, spilt lager and burnt toffee.
Honestly, if you see another batch of pumpkin soup you may well drown yourself face-first in its thick velvety orangeyness. And yet, that c*** down the road has already got their nasty tacky tree up.
You can try to fight it, but you know you are going to lose. So why bother? It is essentially time to start joking about 'getting the sprouts on', stealth-snaffling mince pies and stocking up on Stilton.
And whilst you're at it, you may as well let go any pretence of giving a shit about social decorum, temperance and propriety. It's almost Christmas, after all...
Good Morning & Cheers – Bottoms Up!
Christmas – A time for family, friends & painfully awkward silences
Christmas – A time for family, friends & painfully awkward silences
Christmas – A time for family, friends & painfully awkward silences
Who in their RIGHT MIND would choose Christmas dinner as the ideal moment to introduce two horribly nervous women, as-of-yet total strangers – both of whom mean the world to the protagonist – to get to know one another?!?
No one is their best self on Christmas Day, least of all the hostess. The cranberries are probably not the only thing to have been stewing away in alcohol in an overly warm kitchen since last night.
And nobody likes to think their prodigiously well-stuffed bird is under family scrutiny at the dining table.