“Did you put the kettle on?” asked Grant, carrying Penny around for her good morning tour of the windows.
“Yes, I did. (I always do) Hello Penny!”
Halfway through our breakfast routine:
“My coffee is cold. You said you put the kettle on!”
Well I almost always do.
But as I went to hit the button, I was distracted by a pretty contrail in the frozen morning sky.
“Anyway, couldn’t you tell that the kettle was cold?”
What sort of plonker pours cold water on his coffee grounds?
“Missus, could you give us more nuts?”
“Please? It’s awful cold out here.”
Little Red is very polite.
We know it’s the original Little Red by the shape of her tail.
And it really was cold yesterday. The bird baths were frozen solid.
Cold mornings have a completely different look about them.
“When I go out, you should come with me!” said Grant
“There may be things to photograph!”
Resistance was futile. Frozen mornings are worth viewing.
So off I went, putting on hold everything else. Again.
At least I had located the missing Christmas cards.
The one thing I really can’t stand about winter is Christmas.
Public holidays in general, but especially that one.
In part, I suppose, it was that holidays tended to be hell at the airport. In December, bad weather and cranky passengers. Too many of them. As in oversales.
“You have ruined our Christmas!” people would shriek.
Of course the staff were cranky too. Who wanted to deal with nasty passengers?
The die-hards would try to make things merry.
One had to applaud their effort. But as far as I was concerned, forced jollity only made me more grumpy.
Back then, I was quite depressed. I’d go home from a crappy day only to deal with Uncle’s latest mood which was worse when all too often off he was off the wagon.
Christmas was supposed to be about peace and goodwill but it always seemed to go off the rails, not just for me.
Back then there were office parties. Someone always got drunk and did stupid stuff and then went home and upset their family.
Or worse, got in an accident. It was the same people, year after year who you’d keep an eye on, hide their keys or drive them home.
Not that I ever did the latter. I was expected to go straight home or I’d have to explain where I had been. I was in my twenties. Why did I not tell the man to mind his own business?
Lots of reasons.
Anyway. That’s why I don’t like Christmas.
What I could never understand was the Christmas truce.
When opposing sides in a war laid down arms for the duration.
There was that famous occasion in WW1 when soldiers who had been shooting at each other emerged from the trenches and played football together.
Then went back to killing each other the following day.
Because The Powers That Be said they must.
Thinking about it bends my mind.
And hearing people say “Oh, be nice, it’s Christmas!”
You should be nice when it’s not Christmas!
All that “festive food”.
A little bit of something fancy, fine.
People pigging out when so many are starving is just not right.
It’s actually obscene.
Oh dear. I really didn’t intend to turn this into a rant.
But I do get a bit scratchy this time of year.
It is much easier, living with someone who feels the same.
No stupid Christmas hats.
No ‘Jingle Bells’. (Possibly the most annoying tune I ever heard.)
No Christmas presents. We both feel that gifts should be given when one feels like it. Not because of a date on a calendar.
So why write Christmas cards?
It’s a good question. In many cases they are the only connection I have with old friends. How long should one keep it up?
The list is certainly getting shorter.
The cards I send support animal causes. In theory.
Now that I have relocated them…
But first I have to get through my Zoom appointment.
After that, I may feel much better…