The last day of work was pretty predictable. It has been the same for the last 10 bloody years. One pub or another, only with far fewer people than anyone anticipates, because people get on trains, go home to pack, or just can’t be arsed. The false memories of pubs packed with laughter, friendly faces and jolly japes stem from two sources: firstly, the few occasions where Christmas lands on the weekend, so we have more pre-Christmas break, and secondly, rose-coloured bullshit composite memories of previous pissups. The pubs were depressingly empty. I was utterly knackered, following the recent work stresses, and the relaxation affected me, causing me to be extremely bored and disconnected. I would probably have fucked off early had I not prearranged to meet Tony and Andy. As it turns out, I had a second wind and once they arrived it was pretty good fun. We went down to Madras (q.v.) and had a wicked meal, then all piled into Andy’s car and came back to ours, where I promptly fell asleep on the sofa. And snored like a chainsaw apparently.
Today was great though. The first time away from a CRT/LCD for months. Christmas Eve, and I went up town. If you’re thinking “what a twat – it’ll be jammed”, then I’m afraid you have fallen into the trap that has caught so many before you. The trap that says “don’t be stupid, the west end will be rammed. Why not go down to Sainsbury’s – that’ll be much more pleasant”. Did you go ? Was it ? Was it bollocks! The West End is emptier than a normal weekday and extremely pleasurable. The pubs are busy, happy but not so busy you can’t get a seat. So I went to the John Snow based on a peculiar desire to celebrate an extraordinary man. Andy was doing some last minute xmas shoppery so we met up and had a pint and a chat. Afterwards, we went our separate ways and I bought a couple of presents and then…went to the pub. In these 30-something days, there is nothing I like to do more than go to a nice pub, have a pint or two of bitter (“Boot Warmer” in this case), and read a book. Top stuff. Try it, really!
Eventually I came home and wrapped our presents. We didn’t have any wrapping paper so I used newspaper. We didn’t have any sellotape so I tried, unsuccessfully, to use pritt stick and ended up using Gaffa tape. These could possibly be the worst wrapped presents ever.
Michele, being crap with presents, got all excited and unwrapped hers. It’s like living with a 4 year old 🙂
Now here’s a thing. Michele has developed an amazing maternal/sporty skill. If Humph does his little pre-poo dance, she can get her hands under his (her) arse in time to catch his warm jobby 🙂 Keeps the carpet clean, but OTOH forces her to run to the bathroom screaming.
To Frances, Dave, Tobe, Tina and all of the other people who won’t be around this Christmas:
Please get in touch when you get dahn the smoke next time.