IT IS CHRISTMAS, BREAK OUT YOUR GOOD WILL TO MANKIND
So my hands are spotted with itchy red pinpricks as if I'm suffering some kind of horrible festive rash, and my back aches because I spent quite literally all day hunched over a coffee table painting pine cones (a simple task, yet deceptively time-consuming), but AT LAST our real, live, fucking prickly tree is decorated. It's not the best job I've ever done, I will say, but it's decorated, and all the individually wrapped presents are beneath it, and the parents are off at Midnight Mass while I appreciate the hush.
I feel I have kind of failed at Christmas this year; it came sooner than expected and caught me flat-footed (and broke as hell). But whatever: I will enjoy tomorrow, eat a tonne of my mum's roast lamb (she's marinated it in red wine and lavender this year), and then I'll do this all over again a few days from now in Napier and try to do it better.
Merry Christmas, darlings.
I feel I have kind of failed at Christmas this year; it came sooner than expected and caught me flat-footed (and broke as hell). But whatever: I will enjoy tomorrow, eat a tonne of my mum's roast lamb (she's marinated it in red wine and lavender this year), and then I'll do this all over again a few days from now in Napier and try to do it better.
Merry Christmas, darlings.