'tis the season...
...to be getting older. Yep, it's my birthday in a fortnight's time. On Christmas Eve, which is the worst time of the year to have a birthday. I hate my birthday. People tell me I should be grateful that it's not on Christmas Day, but they're wrong. At least on Christmas Day you have a good chance of being surrounded by people who you want to spend time with, who probably care about you, on a day that's devoted entirely to celebration.
Christmas Eve, though, is a beast of another colour. Everyone is stressing to get last minute preparations for Christmas Day completed. I can't think of a Christmas Eve in recent memory where I didn't have to visit a supermarket for last minute purchases of food to cover the time when all the shops will be shut, and you and I know how horrible supermarkets are in the run-up to Christmas, let alone on the day before.
Then there's the awkward and impossible attempts at meeting up with friends for a drink in a pub to celebrate my birthday, which inevitably is a disappointment and a distaster. Most of my friends have left London to spend time with their families, and those that stay in London are never in the same neighbourhood as I am. Even if we do arrange to meet for a drink somewhere in the centre of town, transport is reduced, and loads of pubs are closed. Any that do stay open on Christmas Eve also close early, and people have to leave before the last transport links shut down all together, leaving me feeling like something of a social pariah.
And let's not forget all the people who do forget -- forget that I have a birthday, that is. So I hate my birthday. And as I get older, I hate it more and more.
I'm not really one of those people who demands people show how much they care by spending loads of money on me and buying me lots of presents: I'm far more happy to spend the time being social with people I like to be around. However, if you wanted to buy me something, I certainly wouldn't be ungracious enough not to appreciate it. Here's a link to my wishlist, if you feel the need -- I certainly won't complain.
Christmas Eve, though, is a beast of another colour. Everyone is stressing to get last minute preparations for Christmas Day completed. I can't think of a Christmas Eve in recent memory where I didn't have to visit a supermarket for last minute purchases of food to cover the time when all the shops will be shut, and you and I know how horrible supermarkets are in the run-up to Christmas, let alone on the day before.
Then there's the awkward and impossible attempts at meeting up with friends for a drink in a pub to celebrate my birthday, which inevitably is a disappointment and a distaster. Most of my friends have left London to spend time with their families, and those that stay in London are never in the same neighbourhood as I am. Even if we do arrange to meet for a drink somewhere in the centre of town, transport is reduced, and loads of pubs are closed. Any that do stay open on Christmas Eve also close early, and people have to leave before the last transport links shut down all together, leaving me feeling like something of a social pariah.
And let's not forget all the people who do forget -- forget that I have a birthday, that is. So I hate my birthday. And as I get older, I hate it more and more.
I'm not really one of those people who demands people show how much they care by spending loads of money on me and buying me lots of presents: I'm far more happy to spend the time being social with people I like to be around. However, if you wanted to buy me something, I certainly wouldn't be ungracious enough not to appreciate it. Here's a link to my wishlist, if you feel the need -- I certainly won't complain.