Sunday, 22 December 2013

Advent 21 and 22

Oh dear, oh dear, DOUBLE DISASTER (for a very limited value of "disaster"): I have failed in my advent mission. Firstly, my phone would not work on the boat. Nor, that said, would my brain, due both to a virulent cold and to a rather insistent swell, which forced me into bed at 9pm with my eyes shut and the light out. I am furious about this cold, since I have had a form of pestilence since the first week of December and thought I would have offered sufficient sacrifice to the festive gods by now. It appears not, since this new and delightful strain has taken its place, seamlessly, in the last two days. Secondly, F, to whom I delegated advent calendar packing, forgot to bring my present envelopes. DISASTER (still for a limited value of "disaster"). I know yesterday was a lemon and ginger teabag (no picture, in the general pre-departure chaos). We will have to make up the last few presents. So: this morning's was an heirloom potato, I have decided, in a sturdy Kraft paper bag.

We have reached York, despite the best efforts of the sea and the UK Customs authority and my children who appear currently to be constitutionally incapable of exchanging five civil words with each other. Within twenty minutes of landing on Prog Rock, we were out, trudging around town, in the traditional fashion, eating carbohydrates. I have managed to propel myself into a new, chest-tightening level of panic by unwisely going into: Hawkin's Bazaar (boiling, packed, terrifying), Waterstones ("Marvellous Maths" out of stock. Incidentally, nothing makes you sound like a joyless, harridan bastard than asking for 'Marvellous Maths' on 22nd December. "NO, HONESTLY, HE LOVES MATHS"), Lakeland Plastics (bewildering), Marks & Spencers (last dregs of goodwill to all men violently removed through my kidneys) and Boots (setting off some kind of counter warning at quantities of decongestant purchased). We have retired back to the Prog Rock sofa, from whence I have no intention of moving for the next two days except to stare into the fridge. Assuming F's ordered online presents (plus Letters of Note book for Prog Rock's girlfriend) arrive. If not, it's back out into the feral, pasty eating crowds. Shit. I can't even really stand up, because my inner ear gave up the ghost somewhere twenty miles off the coast of Hull. They'll have to roll me into town and deposit me outside Barnitt's (excellent window display of decorative plastic ferrets, to follow tomorrow when my phone is located/charged).

I have to go now because I still have to write an article about New Year's resolutions for tomorrow morning whilst off my face on Sudafed and wine, so that's ideal. Any ideas for food/children/outings themed New Year's resolutions gratefully received.

How are you holding up? Sinking into a wild-eyed, melted credit card and cinnamon scented funk, or smugly bathing in frosty pine and Carols from Kings?

6 comments:

The Reluctant Launderer said...

Are there *any* calm seas around Britain at the moment? Our ferry was cancelled, and so we squeezed onto the slooooooooowwww one, which meant we got to watch every passenger vomit several times over. Ugh. Still, I expect my sense of balance to be restored by Christmas Day, and I get to cuddle my sister's brand new baby. Which makes up for the fact that I crashed the car AGAIN last night (3rd time in 4 weeks). Inner-ear problems are retroactive, everyone knows that...

Margaret said...

Not the best holiday so far. The boy was laid off before Thanksgiving, and we had to put down our cat Thursday. (She was 17, so sad as hell, but not tragic-sad. Still, I feel like I have a bad cold with all the crying.) Finally, it is 70 DEGREES* here, making me want to throw water balloons at the carolers we heard from our balcony.

*That is 21 in fake, Socialist degrees.

But we just watched a doc about baby otters in Monterey, so I feel better.

Hmm...outings with children? They like trains, don't they? How about the various transit museums the world over? We made our expat friends in London drag their offspring to the London Transport museum and they were crazy about it. ZOMG BUTTONS I CAN PUSH!

My resolution is to "do something" about my creaky, painful joints.

Patience_Crabstick said...

Nothing will kill your goodwill toward mankind better than shopping the last weekend before Christmas.

I ate my weight in cookie dough yesterday and now I have no suitable work clothes that fit.

Suitable kid outings? Send them out on a quest for something and tell them they can't come home until they've found it.

Anonymous said...

Dear Waffle,
I just wanted to say that I hope you have a wonderful Happy Christmas with your loved ones and thank you for your lovely writing all year, much appreciated. Strikes so many chords and reminds me that although I may be lonely, there are kindred spirits out there in the ether.
Best wishes,
A grateful reader

Mandy Indonesia said...

I’m glad to read you again. Thanks for this post. Best for you Buddy! and Merry Christmas

breakfastlady said...

Today was good until MrB just presented me with a box of Heston Blumenthal's chocolates on his return from the supermarket. Yerch. They taste, variously, like cough mixture, old fashioned spangles and something horrible to do with herbs. Bloody Waitrose. There is a *reason* why supermarkets are piled high with Quality Street at this time of year, Mr John of Lewis. Get with it.
However, on the plus side, we have managed to get our TV aerial fixed today so that we can watch Xmas telly, *and* get a door that blew off in the last storm re-attached so that it can blow off again in tomorrow's.
Wishing you and yours a lovely holiday and a swift recovery from the lurgy.