And so we reach that time of year when we spend too much, eat too much and drink too much, all justified by the phrase, 'Oh well, it's nearly Christmas,' before we get to January and complain that we have no money and need to lose a few kilos. I have actually been Christmas shopping. Twice. The first time, I had a massive list, a bad mood, a bored husband, and all I bought was a chap-stick. Second time around, I managed to buy a few presents, after which The Husband and I decided to reward ourselves with a cup of coffee in town. Unfortunately, we got sidetracked by an advert for afternoon tea in the shop next door. Never mind. It happens.
The Daughter and her boyfriend get home from their three months of travelling this Monday. From looking at the photos she's been sharing on Facebook, I like the look of Sri Lanka and New Zealand the most. They loved New Zealand, and were very sad to leave, so I wouldn't be at all surprised if they decided to head out that way permanently, some time in the future.
They'll be staying in these parts for a few days before going back home to Cornwall for Christmas. For the second year, we'll be having Christmas dinner at a pub with my parents. It's a bit pricey, but it means that everyone can enjoy the day without worrying whether the turkey will be ready at the same time as the potatoes, and who will get the rickety chair at the dinner table. And there's no washing-up.
For the first time, I gave the work's Christmas Do a miss. They were off to the pub in the village, where we go most years and complain about the food. And yet, we still go back. Yesterday, at school, while I was laminating and cutting-out numbers in French, an increasing number of grumpy people stomped up and down the corridor, complaining about going out that evening. I hope they had a good time. I did. I had a glass or two of rather nice red wine and read a book. Not a party game or a Christmas cracker in sight. I honestly think that the older I get, the more unsociable I get, and that's fine until people won't leave me to be antisocial in peace. 'What you need is a really good night out,' I've been told. Nope. What I need is a good malt whisky and the next DVD of Parenthood (the brilliant American six-season box-set, not the Steve Martin film).
So, I'm sorry, I won't be able to make that party - I've just got so much work I have to do.
The Daughter and her boyfriend get home from their three months of travelling this Monday. From looking at the photos she's been sharing on Facebook, I like the look of Sri Lanka and New Zealand the most. They loved New Zealand, and were very sad to leave, so I wouldn't be at all surprised if they decided to head out that way permanently, some time in the future.
They'll be staying in these parts for a few days before going back home to Cornwall for Christmas. For the second year, we'll be having Christmas dinner at a pub with my parents. It's a bit pricey, but it means that everyone can enjoy the day without worrying whether the turkey will be ready at the same time as the potatoes, and who will get the rickety chair at the dinner table. And there's no washing-up.
For the first time, I gave the work's Christmas Do a miss. They were off to the pub in the village, where we go most years and complain about the food. And yet, we still go back. Yesterday, at school, while I was laminating and cutting-out numbers in French, an increasing number of grumpy people stomped up and down the corridor, complaining about going out that evening. I hope they had a good time. I did. I had a glass or two of rather nice red wine and read a book. Not a party game or a Christmas cracker in sight. I honestly think that the older I get, the more unsociable I get, and that's fine until people won't leave me to be antisocial in peace. 'What you need is a really good night out,' I've been told. Nope. What I need is a good malt whisky and the next DVD of Parenthood (the brilliant American six-season box-set, not the Steve Martin film).
I wouldn't dream of telling someone, 'Look, a night in with a book will do you the world of good.' Go and enjoy your parties, you extroverts, and let me get away from people for a bit.
I will have plenty of excuses to opt out of gatherings, anyway. I got an email from Roehampton University, offering me a place on their Children's Literature Masters course. It says the offer is conditional, depending on my degree results, but I already know that I've got a first, so I can start planning. Which reminds me: I better get on with that script I have to write for my present course. I'm six pages into it, with another eight to go, plus a commentary on what I've written: 'I chose the medium of radio, so I wouldn't have to think about stage directions or props. And, yes, I have used personal experience in my writing, because the character of Bitchy Mother is based on my Mother-in-law.'
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