Oh, hello there, Mr Blog. (Yes, my blog is male, at least, it is in my head.)
I’m sorry for neglecting you recently, but the good news is I’m currently sat on the train home for christmas, which means no more assignments or work for a few weeks. Hallelujah!
Speaking of Christmas, I have never had such a love-hate relationship with anytging in my life, not even Marmite.
Of course, I love Christmas. I love that it brings everyone together, we can eat a feast and start drinking at 9am without being called an alcoholic.
I mean, let’s face it, that was the exact reason Bucks Fizz was created. It wasn’t for the taste. Us Brits just enjoy a bevvy as soon as we wake up. It’s culture.
What I don’t like about Christmas is the few weeks running up to it. Work goes mental, because for some reason Christmas also means maccies.
I seem to work more and have less money, because I’m a perfectionist when it comes to gifts and I will spend a small fortune making sure I get those presents right.
There’s also the social life, and I have recently discovered I drink too much. I am oopma-lumpa small, so it’s beyond me how I can manage a good 7 pints on a night out. And everytime the word ‘pint’ is mentioned, I’m like: ‘Fuck it, it’s christmas.’ This is bad for my bank, and probably my health.
Not really related, by knid of is, why do people sexualise Santa? He is literally a mythical fat man with a beard. There is nothing sexy about him. He brings gifts to children. So innocent, so pure. Yet, the amount of Santa lingerie is disturbing. Is there something I’m not getting?
And someone, please tell me, why everyone waits until the Saturday before Christmas to do their shopping? I went to the Trafford Centre the other day with Ian and his family, and we could barely even move, it was so packed.
The highlight of that day has to be the guy that works at Millies Cookies trying to show off. He was making me a Cookie Latte (Highly recommend. 10/10 sugar. 10/10 coffee.) and tried to flip the cream thing in the air, but it landed on the coffee and it spilt everywhere. And he just looked at it for a few minutes, not even blinking.
Maybe he was absorbing what had just happened. Maybe he was contemplating walking out and never coming back. Either way, I found it hilarious. Ian felt bad for him, but I couldn’t help but laugh, because that man was literally me.
I realised he probably thought I was laughing at him, so I pointed at the cup and said: ‘same.’ In some sort of attempt to make him feel better. I still don’t know what I meant by that.
I’ve also started taking a lot of pictures of baths, which is a weird hobby. (Baths full of water, with bubbles and candles. I don’t just take a picture of an empty bath. I’m not 100% crazy.)
So, the picture to go with this post is my ‘festive’ bath with my light up reindeer and christmas trees. I just thought I’d let you know what that’s about before I leave.
This may well be the last time I write before Christmas. So have a great holiday, get drunk and eat lots.