This is the brick that was thrown through our kitchen window on Xmas eve. Police scene of crime have told us to leave the kitchen as is, bar the boarding up of the window, until they can investigate. This means we can’t take crockery, utensils or food from old kitchen to new, and means we’ll be sitting down to beans on toast later on. With cheese if possible.
I haven’t been a big one for Xmas festivities since I was a teenager. I find gift giving and even gift receiving a bit of a fag. I find it really desperately disturbing that a large part of the wheels of the economy depend on the results of the Xmas sales reason. The financial well-being of the nation depends on people buying mountains of unwanted, unneeded tat for each other.
But it doesn’t seem to be possible to opt out without being accused of hum-buggery or skinflintedness.
So I’m not at all bothered by enforced lack of turkey (we’ll be doing that with my parents on Boxing Day). I’m not at all bothered by spending Christmas Day hefting boxes and tidying the old house.
P prefers the kitsch and clamour and isn’t having so much fun: he says this is his second worse Christmas ever, second only to a day in his childhood when he was taken suddenly ill.