Oh god! I should feel excited about the build up to Christmas, the shops are full of gifts, the cafes and pubs are decorated, and markets are everywhere.
But I’m not; I so want to feel the butterfly flutters of merriment and celebrations, buying gifts for loved ones, but all I keep saying to anyone that is near me is ‘tell me, is it over yet?’
I feel a right Scrooge. Somehow Christmas doesn’t feel the same. The sparkle isn’t quite there. The kids have grown up, even the grandkids have grown up.
And to be honest Christmas just seems a bit of a pain in the backside - I’m even thinking of downsizing the tree. I think I’d be more than happy with a twig from the garden.
Pete’s mother had a tiny Christmas tree with all the decorations on that she just popped up in the loft and brought back down at Christmas, already decorated. I do remember the joy and anticipation of my childhood Christmases as back then, Christmases were very different.
There were none of all the electronic gadgets that we have now. The only toys that needed power were run from batteries.
Trimming the house consisted of a tree with lights and baubles and paper lanterns that had to be hung from the exact place on the ceiling where last year’s drawing pin holes were.
There were no lights outside around doors or hung from trees, well not on our street anyway.
And none of us certainly never went to Lapland to see Santa. To be honest none of my friends had ever been on a plane.
Santa came to visit us on Christmas Eve, and he came down the chimney, because everyone had one back then. We very rarely received a present that we didn’t want, and we weren’t overwhelmed with presents like children are now.
Back then there were no credit cards, so Christmas was saved up for - so many people now are left with huge debts that they’re paying off right into the new year.
I can remember my mum making me a snowball with advocaat and lemonade, as I still do now as we put our tree up, the same tree every year with the same baubles.
I still have a couple of the baubles from all those years back and look at them with fond memories. I think that what my problem is now, other than I’m a bit of a miserable sod, is that I don’t want to be this age.
I want to be that young girl again. I want to feel the magic and excitement that I had when I was little. I want to re-live the excitement on my children’s faces when they were young, and we silently crept downstairs to see if he’d been.
I want to see the pure pleasure on their faces when they had seen that he had been, but time can’t stand still.
Anyhow, all this reminiscing and moaning isn’t going to change anything so I’ll shut up, pull my big girl knickers up and just crack on, maybe have a cheeky glass of mulled wine.
