Christmas.

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Christmas.

Christmas has always been a goodish time for me, decent ones as a kid, quiet, riotous or drunken ones as an adult. I like the time of year. Not the stress, the crowds or the harrying but the festiveness leading into the turning of the year.

This last year I have been climbing out of a deep pit (life, the universe and other things) back into living, and it is good’ish.

Plans for the future are being made, small ones and big target (but achievable) set.

So optimistic, so why the blog, well I have a friend, who was a Christmas Eve birth, and every year we get this rigmarole that her birthday comes first because she always says she felt left as a child as it rolled into Christmas. Fair enough and possibly true. But still doing it at 56 is starting to grate.

And she wants an afternoon Birthday Tea. And instead of just shrugging and getting on with it, this year I am bucking. You know what, I want to be festive silly for once. And then I feel guilty and…..

Trouble is I know if I say that, she will get affronted and huffy for a while.

But this year I just want a quiet ‘ME’ Christmas, me and the 2 cats, a few treats, a new book, a warm room, some silly or soppy films (Muppets Christmas Carol et al) and just wallow as I remember them in the past and look forwards to them in the future.

Thank you for reading, this is a kind of therapy, trying to explain it in words.

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