A belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, folks. I’d have gotten to you sooner but the Yuletide season generally finds me locked away in “The Land That Broadband Forgot”.
Have a good one?
Doubtless you consumed approximately your own body weight in turkey, twice that amount in mince pies and enough alcohol to flood the Serengetti.
Presents were plentiful, I trust? Socks which are already missing partners, books which you’ve no intention of reading and good, noisy toys for the kids which sadly have everlasting batteries.
So it’s all done for another year, asides from the clear up.
The never-ending, soul-crushing clear up.
It can’t be done! CAN NOT BE DONE!
For a start, you can’t pack away the toys. Oh hells no. Because the minute you start the kids remember that particular toy that you’re packing away and it’s “THE ONLY THING I WANT TO PLAY WITH I PROMISE OH MY GOODNESS IT IS MY FAVOURITEST GIMME IT NOW!”. So you hand it over and start to tidy something else away but bugger me, THAT’S their bestest toy now.
Try to focus on something else, the washing up perhaps! Of course, it’s going to need another three days of soaking before the pudding is washing off of those plates and you’d be better of smashing that roasting dish because a sandblaster wouldn’t remove the goose fat.
OK. Wrapping paper. You can deal with that. It’s all bunged in bin bags and out for the…oh, there’s a bit under the couch.
Right, got that bit. Now it’s all bagged up and out for the bin men. Barring that ball of it tucked behind the tree. Damn. Well that can go in the bin and…what the hell is all this paper doing in the drawer!? KIDS?!
Fair enough, you’ll be finding bits of wrapping paper, gift tags and torn up bank notes for we…torn up bank notes? Buggeration, there WAS a card in the envelope?
The best thing to do is just build a fort out of the wreckage and hide away until next Christmas. Now, pass me that big box, it’s going to be my door.