It's cliched to be cynical at Christmas
Hey. It's been a while. But it's Christmas, which is a time for traditions. So here we are.
Last year, there was a brief hiatus in the annual visitation to my family home. This year we're back for a Completely Normal Christmas. Definitely Normal. ChrisC and I have piled up the motorway[*], singing along to the Christmas compilation albums he made, and to the festive quick-fire found from Pappy's. We've collected the order from the butcher and I've made up the pigs in blankets and the stuffing for tomorrow; we've put the tree and the decorations up; we've got a fire going. Things are in their usual places. Dad and I have a pint each.
All sounding normal, no?
Sadly, some unexpected companions accompanied us this year. One is a sort of scientific angel, which sits on my shoulder. It says things like "you've been very careful in the run up to Christmas" and "you're doing daily lateral flow tests", and "all your relatives, however elderly and unwell, are extremely vaccinated (as are you)".
On the other shoulder, sits Little Devil Doubt. Little Devil Doubt likes to keep reminding me that I've come from London, where infection rates are currently through the roof. And that many of my friends who are also sensible, careful people have contracted Covid just the same. "Are you sure," it says, "that that little sniffle you have is just because you helped ChrisC's parents move a load of dusty boxes out of storage? Are you sure it's just an allergy? Do you maybe have a slight sore throat, too? You're still sneezing. You've been into shops this week. Can you trust lateral flow tests? Isn't your throat feeling a bit sore? Don't forget that Rach had Covid for a few days before she tested positive. And G caught Covid at a party where everyone had tested negative beforehand. And T had what he thought was a cold, tested negative twice, and infected three other people with Covid... Are you sure you don't have a sore throat?"
Little Devil Doubt is, of course, particularly fond of saying things like this to me in the middle of the night when I'm trying to sleep. I'm not a fan but, sadly, LDD appears to have a rather louder and more insistent voice than Science Angel.
It is not, to be honest, the most restful approach to Christmas. But I am well aware that many people are having much worse Christmases, for all kinds of reasons. If some 3am panic is the worst that happens to me, I will have nothing to complain about.
Of course, an un-looked for benefit of travelling to the far north is that the chemists here actually have lateral flow tests in stock. I picked some up, which means we can now test profligately instead of worrying that we might run out. And I was here to explicate the now-slightly-bureaucratic process for acquiring same to my Dad.
I've spoken to my parents' very-vulnerable neighbour on the phone, rather than popping round. I've run some errands for my also-quite-unwell uncle (including posting a card... at least... I think I posted a card... I left his house with it, and wound up back at my parents' without it... but I have absolutely zero memory of putting it in a postbox... surely I posted it...). I've bumped into random neighbours and said 'hi' (including a hilarious pelican crossing experience where three people crossed from each side, and each one stopped briefly for a chat with the person coming towards them in the opposite direction).
Tomorrow, there's going to be a certain amount of driving people around, and generally trying to make sure everyone's OK. Due to a Covid-related care-mixup, my mum will be running a carefully-edited Christmas dinner round to the aforementioned vulnerable neighbour. But tomorrow, there will also be good cheer, company, a fire and, of course, pigs in blankets. We'll be OK.
Take care everyone. I hope you're warm, and safe, and that everyone you care about is healthy. Have a good day tomorrow.
[*] Ish. Owing to shocking traffic, we came up the A1 instead of the M1, which is only (M) for some of the way. [Originally posted at https://venta.dreamwidth.org/542065.html]
Last year, there was a brief hiatus in the annual visitation to my family home. This year we're back for a Completely Normal Christmas. Definitely Normal. ChrisC and I have piled up the motorway[*], singing along to the Christmas compilation albums he made, and to the festive quick-fire found from Pappy's. We've collected the order from the butcher and I've made up the pigs in blankets and the stuffing for tomorrow; we've put the tree and the decorations up; we've got a fire going. Things are in their usual places. Dad and I have a pint each.
All sounding normal, no?
Sadly, some unexpected companions accompanied us this year. One is a sort of scientific angel, which sits on my shoulder. It says things like "you've been very careful in the run up to Christmas" and "you're doing daily lateral flow tests", and "all your relatives, however elderly and unwell, are extremely vaccinated (as are you)".
On the other shoulder, sits Little Devil Doubt. Little Devil Doubt likes to keep reminding me that I've come from London, where infection rates are currently through the roof. And that many of my friends who are also sensible, careful people have contracted Covid just the same. "Are you sure," it says, "that that little sniffle you have is just because you helped ChrisC's parents move a load of dusty boxes out of storage? Are you sure it's just an allergy? Do you maybe have a slight sore throat, too? You're still sneezing. You've been into shops this week. Can you trust lateral flow tests? Isn't your throat feeling a bit sore? Don't forget that Rach had Covid for a few days before she tested positive. And G caught Covid at a party where everyone had tested negative beforehand. And T had what he thought was a cold, tested negative twice, and infected three other people with Covid... Are you sure you don't have a sore throat?"
Little Devil Doubt is, of course, particularly fond of saying things like this to me in the middle of the night when I'm trying to sleep. I'm not a fan but, sadly, LDD appears to have a rather louder and more insistent voice than Science Angel.
It is not, to be honest, the most restful approach to Christmas. But I am well aware that many people are having much worse Christmases, for all kinds of reasons. If some 3am panic is the worst that happens to me, I will have nothing to complain about.
Of course, an un-looked for benefit of travelling to the far north is that the chemists here actually have lateral flow tests in stock. I picked some up, which means we can now test profligately instead of worrying that we might run out. And I was here to explicate the now-slightly-bureaucratic process for acquiring same to my Dad.
I've spoken to my parents' very-vulnerable neighbour on the phone, rather than popping round. I've run some errands for my also-quite-unwell uncle (including posting a card... at least... I think I posted a card... I left his house with it, and wound up back at my parents' without it... but I have absolutely zero memory of putting it in a postbox... surely I posted it...). I've bumped into random neighbours and said 'hi' (including a hilarious pelican crossing experience where three people crossed from each side, and each one stopped briefly for a chat with the person coming towards them in the opposite direction).
Tomorrow, there's going to be a certain amount of driving people around, and generally trying to make sure everyone's OK. Due to a Covid-related care-mixup, my mum will be running a carefully-edited Christmas dinner round to the aforementioned vulnerable neighbour. But tomorrow, there will also be good cheer, company, a fire and, of course, pigs in blankets. We'll be OK.
Take care everyone. I hope you're warm, and safe, and that everyone you care about is healthy. Have a good day tomorrow.
[*] Ish. Owing to shocking traffic, we came up the A1 instead of the M1, which is only (M) for some of the way. [Originally posted at https://venta.dreamwidth.org/542065.html]