So This is Christmas, I Hope You Have Fun

I’m sure I have written about my recurring nightmare before. Well I have one when I am pretty, pretty drunk every now and again; it involves me thinking I am trapped in a room and every time I walk out of the door of the room just ending up back in the same room. I think I am kind of awake and asleep because I am conscious on some level – it is normally my vague recollection of familiar surroundings that brings me back to reality. [Apart from once I had the nightmare at someone’s house I wasn’t familiar with and ended up urinating all over her housemate’s bed. I don’t think I did any more sleepovers there.]

Even though I didn’t think I was that soused last night I clearly was as I had my drunkmare. Fortunately it didn’t involve wee-wee – fortunately as I was sleeping in the bedroom of my 1-year-old niece. It did have a bit of a twist though. Rather than being in some infinite room that led to itself I was on a crashed train on The Underground [some imagination eh? Where have I just been in the last day or so?]. For some reason I was the only one on the crashed train – well not some reason, limited imagination clearly plays a large part in this – and was wondering whether I should wait to be rescued or try and make my way out of the wreckage. After about half an hour* I thought I should move an inch or two and slowly made my way along the wall of the tunnel of The Underground.

After doing this very slowly I realised that I was on the hallway at my sister’s house. I had been having my suspicions that I was not in reality but it was nice to have it confirmed by switching the bathroom light on. However, it shook me up a bit even though I had realised what a ridiculous cunt I was I couldn’t sleep properly after that.

That was a heart-warming story for Christmas wasn’t it?

*real time probably 4 or 5 minutes.

Let’s Hope It’s A Good One Without Any Fear

I’ll tell you this for nothing: my sister’s children know nothing about getting up for Christmas. It was about half six when they got up (to be fair I am not sure the 1-year-old is fully on board with it all and the other one is 14). I was ready for bed by half-past-six on Christmas day when I was little; having got up 4 hours earlier to open my presents. Something I only grew out of when I was 25 or 26; when I would be able to sleep until about 5 before running to see if he had been.

Then I would have watched something on TV – Mickey’s Christmas Carol or something. Before someone getting to put one of their Christmas videos* on. Then we would have gone to put some of out new Christmas clothes on (for a good few years this meant a United kit under a tracksuit) while family members visited. We were always the backward family who couldn’t drive/didn’t have a car and so got visited by all my mum’s sisters and their children. The awkward bit of that was trying to figure out what I was thanking people for – the avarice of my young self could not be contained and I wouldn’t pause whilst shredding presents of their paper for something as time-consuming as reading the card denoting who the present was off. As I got older it would also be a rare chance for these relatives to see me – and ask me why I was such a miserable person, which always cheered me up no end.

Today I watched my nieces opening their presents (which was pointless – none of their presents were for me) and then tried to find somewhere to have a nap: hangover, train crash and lack of sleep contributing to a tiredness.

*precursor to DVD**

**precursor to BluRay

The Near and The Dear Ones, The Old and The Young

The main business of the day was to get myself down to my parents’ place and get my presents. Turned out Santa was – not for the first time – lax in checking who had been naughty and who had been nice (suggesting maybe cutbacks have led to second check being removed from the process) and I had quite the bounty. I played along with the game and thanked my parents for the presents, it always feels like such a sham; I know it was Santa, they know it was Santa…Let’s just say Santa knows I like films and DVDs.

My mum’s iPad was threatening to overshadow proceedings. I am dead against my mother having something more technologically advanced than me: she doesn’t know what ‘desktop’ or ‘icon’ mean for St Peter’s sake. I was the bigger man about it all and showed this by playing on it for a couple of hours rather than smashing it up. After lunch we had a cheery glimpse of what Christmas has become – we played Trivial Pursuit…on the iPad, passing it between us.

Symbolically the television was ignored. Christmas past has always seen BBC as king in our house, sat around watching all the Christmas specials of programmes we loved. However this year they have all been fucking shit so we haven’t.

And so This is Christmas for Weak and for Strong

I got off back to my sister’s house after Coronation Street. As much as I enjoy trying to watch television while my brother plays games on an iPad with all the sound effects and music on loud something about the second hour of it annoying. I was unlucky enough to get back when they were watching Eastenders. What a horrible, grim, fucking depressing programme it is. There was no cheer whatsoever, just a collection of people trying to destroy each other’s lives. Apparently it was the most watched programme on Christmas Day. Unsurprisingly, then, I am out of step with what is popular in this country.

It had been a long day and everyone went for an early night after that. It being Christmas Day I stayed up and watched The Twilight Saga: New Moon, which I didn’t think much of at all. I have decided to watch the Twilight films though so I will have to press on.

All in all it wasn’t a bad Christmas and I certainly am not complaining about it. It wasn’t very Christmassy. I blame TV for being shit and not hearing much Christmas music. Seriously, I haven’t heard Merry Christmas (War is Over) or Fairytale of New York this Christmas. Or loads of others. I don’t know – it’s like I sneezed and missed Christmas or something. Ah well.

Merry Christmas one and all.