Sunday, 6 December 2009

Four reasons to stamp on my head

One step forward, 8000 steps back. I finally book a boat for Christmas, using a credit card I cobble together with papier-mâché and double sided sticky tape. After revelling in my competence for several hours I wake at 4am realising:

a) We are travelling back overnight on 24th - will Father Christmas have to deliver to the boat, like something from the Raymond Briggs version (pointless parenthesis - does Father Christmas have a weepette? Check your copy, I am sure it is)

; and

b) Since I had my driver's licence stolen, how on earth am I going to hire a car?

Fail factor of 100.

Next, I call a dog person and end up committed to taking the weepette and children out to the arse end of nowhere at an extravagantly inconvenient time tomorrow, so they can check whether the weepette is a vicious killer. I consider, alternatively, putting a pair of long felt ears on the weepette and depositing him discreetly in the nativity scene in the Grand Place as an extra-malnourished donkey.

Thirdly, I realise that my failure to book a ticket at a reasonable time for Craftacular means that Eurostar will probably eat all my profit. Not that I have calculated how to make a profit. Or had any coherent thoughts on the subject at all. My poor "business" partner had to video chat me through biscuit box dimensions yesterday when I was so hungover I kept spontaneously weeping and Lashes kept thrusting his head in my face and roaring. I will have to go to the station to buy at ticket because my papier-mâché credit card has disintegrated, but the only time I can go is when I am taking weepette to be vetted for sociopathic tendencies.

Fourthly I spend much of yesterday crying with exhaustion and crapness and the spawn were so excited by the arrival of jolly St Nicolas, the 6 to 8 black men and their regime of terror and cruelty, that they woke at 3 and 5 this morning before finally alighting on my head at 7 screeching about the inadequacy of their gifts. As a result, we are spending today like this:

I'm the tartan pancake Ektorping to the right. My skin tone today is Farrow and Ball Romanian Orphan, with a touch of Heritage Consumptive Glaswegian.

Activities have included: eating chocolate coins, watching shit films about stab-inducingly cute dogs in space and whining for help from the CFO to build Lego. If I manage to be sufficiently productive even to put the bins out it will be a miracle.

However to compensate for this, the better half of my brain has done me a GUEST POST. It's about our epic Craftacular preparations, which she has actually been doing while I mainly whine about not doing them. Yes yes yes. So if you come back a bit later, you can discover the dark side of craft including actual photos and stuff. Also, please vote in the poll because commenter Fran has bloody well fixed it so that I have to make actual food with the turnips. Do not let this travesty of justice stand.


jen hit the roof said...

Oh Joy, myself and my oldest son have just about wet ourselves laughing at your link to youtube about St Nicholas. I feel your pain, the stress of Christmas as an adult is no good, I hope it gets better for you.

Jen x

jen hit the roof said...

P.S. I was obviously expressing Joy at your ability to make us laugh and not at your pain and anguish, just re-read my comment and wanted to make that clear. I think I'm suffering from a seasonal dyslexia or something.

Jen x

Anonymous said...

These are not good reasons to stamp on your head. A slight shake of the head and then tilt while surveying you in a pitying, yet supportive manner will suffice.

I did not 'fix' it - I just simply had a look to see if you could vote more than once. So I voted for it 3 times. It was not for a 'fixable' reason and I did come clean so I feel this is unfair victimisational labelling.

Jaywalker said...

Nevertheless, Fran, you are partly to blame for the state of my HEAD (if we ignore free will and being an adult and so on, which I insist we do). And thus I will continue to unfairly victimise you until I no longer have to cook with the turnips. Turnip bake? Turnip soup? Turnip cake? Gah. GAH.

Anonymous said...

I was a bit puzzled to read about the hangover and then realised that it merely proves my point - you need to eat more food.

Iheartfashion said...

We're celebrating Christmas Dutch-style this year. It sounds so much more fun.

Sarah, Maison Cupcake said...

Ha ha, I have had to endure Raymond Briggs Father Christmas about five times a day since my mother bought it for my son. I don't know how he's going to cope with January.

fabhat said...

Ah but you are wearing lovely comfy pj's. I also have those pyjamas - I love them, but the husband puts them in the same category of hideous clothing items that he cannot remove from my grasp with the distressed victorian orphan dress (great for pregnancy). My vintage leopardskin coat used to be held in the same very low esteem, but by dint of constant wear over 7 years he has now admitted he 'quite likes it". Alas I don't have the same hopes for the orphan dress and the pj's.

It's our last Christmas sans childer, so that kind of wild excitement lies ahead of me...but I do look forward to coming and stalking/meeting you and your brain twin at the Bust fair. Hurrah

the polish chick said...

would it be rude to say i sure am glad i am and shall remain childless? i mean, they sound fascinating and stuff, but i don't think i could put up with the sheer child-induced exhaustion. i can barely breathe and think at the same time as it is...

black said...

bridal online shop bridal gowns wholesale wedding dresses high quality bridal gowns wholesale custom wedding dresses wedding apparel wedding dresses top sellers wedding dresses2010 new arrivals 2010 new arrivals wedding dresses beach wedding dresses Luxury Wedding Dresses plus size wedding dresses wedding party dresses bridesmaid dresses junior bridesmaid dresses flower girl dresses mother of bride dresses wedding shoes wedding bags wedding accessories evening dresses prom dresses cocktail dresses quinceanera dresses little black dresses