Poetry without comment beyond thanks to Uday Mittal for use of the image x
I didn’t enjoy Christmas. I rarely do. This year had the added ‘bonus’ of me reaching the age my dad died at. I also realised it isn’t Christmas per se that isn’t liked. True, much of it isn’t, like the panic and stress about who goes where and what happens when they’re there, but really it’s that whole time of year weather thing previously mentioned (links below). The meal and all the drinking, any going out and socialising (assuming I can get past the leaving the house bit), I love and can’t ever recall a time of sitting morosely through any of that.
Christmas is meant to be full of celebration and joy; for many, though, it can be a dark time brimming with morbidity and doom in a place far from fun and festivity.
Humbug, we say.
While calling these people Ebenezer Scrooge.
What the Dickens, then Continue reading