So the usual Christmas timeline’s messed up. I took the day off a couple of weeks ago so we could go to Blenheim Palace - that was great. But then I took yesterday off (got loads of holiday to use up, it turns out) and then felt really Christmassy.
I know. The other day, I was complaining at not feeling Christmassy enough; now I’m brimming with too much of the festive feeling?
Well yes. It was the hardest thing in all the world to go back to work today. I should be supping eggnog with Bublé on while Sammy wraps presents. There should be cinnamon in the air, and the sound of sellotape and scissors. Instead Slack crackled with messages and my inbox pinged, ironically, like a Christmas bell.
It goes school-term, shopping, orchestra, end-of-school assembly, games, home, food and fun, Christmas. That’s been the way of it. That’s the Christmas timeline, set out in my memory since 1991.
What’s more, this weekend we have a family pre-Christmas. I’m not complaining - it’ll be fine, just confusing. Sozzled with brandy butter, paper crown slipping over one heavy eye, full on life and twinkles, I think I run the risk of peaking too early, and having to do it all again a week later.
And before that? Still a few complicated work days and carol nights. In fact this week, I’m playing carols twice, maybe even thrice, and I haven’t practiced a note this year, thanks to all the kitchen drama. I will be winging it beneath the tinsel and across the keys.
Perhaps the key this week is to feel as unchristmassy as possible - you know, just ignore it all as though visited by the ghost of Scrooge. What’s that? You’re excited about Christmas? Humbug. Feeling festive, you say? Balderdash to it.
The problem is, secretly, I absolutely love it. That’s always going to get in the way of me pretending to be grumpy.
Perhaps I should just get on with my work.
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