I hate Christmas.
I spent Tuesday night/Wednesday morning with both ends of my stomach seriously malfunctioning - was it the Oysters on Monday or is it that two week gastro-enteritis that's going round.
And at the moment I so hate my love. He's gone to the pub. I don't want him back till midnight. He's being too bloody helpful. Tidying up and cleaning up. Trouble is - he pits things under the stairs that belong under the sink. Things in the shed that belong under the stairs. I haven't a clue where my bucket is.
My stomach feels crap. I'm thinking of getting very drunk and spending the next few days throwing up. I just hope I'm not slumping into depression. The signs are familiar. Maybe it's Late Onset SAD.
Mind you I had a useful conversation with my brother. He's as sick as me of this big 'get bossed around by big sister into spending far too much money on gift vouchers for each other'. Most of his friends are like most of my friends - buy something small and perfectly formed for adults. He would far rather spend the money on a weekend away. I shall speak to Mother next week and I am pretty sure that next Christmas Big Sister will be outnumbered three-to-one. Trouble is, she surrounds herself by people of limited outlook who swallow everything they read in the Daily Mail about what you have to buy for whom. She's even got my cousin (supposedly an unreconstructed cuddly Guardian-reading lefty) caught up in it - although he's got my nephew The Hobbit, even though I don't remember books being on the nephew's wish list...
Roll on 5 January when life can return to normal.
Bah Humbug
