I hate Christmas for a number of reasons and on many levels. Most of the reasons are connected with dismay at my situation and the hatred works at many levels of my being. That presumably is why every year, without exception, I put myself through something I've just begun this morning which is the task of putting the house in order so that the tree and the decorations can go up, the dining room can be dressed for the occasion and that we do the whole formal meal with every conceivable trimming thing. For the three of us. Never mind that I have no family with me, that I hate being here. That being the three of us locked for the 'festive' holiday in this danse macabre of Cluedo, Zulu, Mah Jongg and turkey.
Today I started gathering together and bagging up the accumulated detritus of this year now drawing to a close.
I picked up some cardboard boxes from the supermarket last Friday and I'm putting into them the things now best set to one side until the end of December. Soon it will be time to fetch down from the loft the cases of decorations to fish through them for those bits and pieces still presentable enough to be pressed into use again.
Oh, how I hate this.
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