After resting on my festive laurels for a while due to not being able to get the CLD (TM) in the car with me, I finally ventured out today to try and conquer the Christmas shopping I have left to do for Jason and the children.
I only made it as far as my local Sainsburys with my mum, but given the inertia of the last few weeks, it felt like I had hiked up the North face of the Eiger.
We spent hours in there.
I kid you not.
We got kind of overwhelmed by everything, and wandered around the aisles for a while, randomly picking things up and putting them down again. Occasionally we would go so far as to throw something in the trolley. Then we weren’t sure. Every time I felt a bit paralysed with doubt I threw more chocolate into the trolley. Eventually it looked like a mobile ad, warning people about the perils of diabetes.
The children will be happy. They love sweets with a passion and are only usually allowed one sweetie time a day. Christmas and Easter are much more relaxed and they actively fantasise about large quantities of chocolately goodness coming their way.
They will not be disappointed in this respect at all.
We got things done eventually, but I would say that I have made a blip in my list rather than a sizeable dent, or even complete annihilation.
This is a bit disheartening to say the least.
It was nice to spend some time together. It was nice to feel I was only dying a little bit. I might actually be getting better, which would also be nice.
After yesterday, when Andrea ferried me to London like she was my carer, and I was an elderly lady with an ear trumpet, I really needed to start feeling better. We ended up skipping our plans to go and see an exhibition at the Imperial War Museum because I was too ill. She drove up to London accompanied by me clutching a hot water bottle and emitting plangent moans. I fell asleep in the first half of the play (Juno and The Paycock at the National) and only managed to stay awake in the second half because there was a lot of misery induced shrieking which stopped me from nodding.
Andrea is very patient with me. More patient than I would be. I’d have abandoned me at the side of the South Bank to die.
I almost wish she had. It would have solved the shopping dilemma.
Because, of course, I still have shopping to do. Oscar and Tallulah have both requested items from the Build a Bear workshop for Christmas. I am putting it off. My only consolation is that I can shop online.
Tilly wants another interesting cardigan. Tilly and her interesting cardigans have haunted every festivity for the last six years. She loves them, but trying to find something she will find interesting becomes more of a challenge, year on year.
Really, since announcing I was going to make this festive season easier, it seems to have become harder by the day. I have never spent so much time worrying, fretting, thinking, testing, planning and making time for things.
I am now heartily sick of everything to do with Christmas, and it is not even December yet. I usually start feeling like this about half way through advent, but this year it has come early.
I have decided that unless you are way more organised than me, and unless you start rifling through charity shops in April, and crafting in May, you are pretty much fucked unless you want to gift everyone a lot of nylon and some badly constructed decoupage. If you want things that are beautiful, and you are as inept as me, you are truly lost.
Truly.
Give me three years to prototype my plan, and a following wind, and a significant drop off in the number of friends and relatives I have, and I might just crack it.
This year I might be losing more friends and relatives thanks to total gift breakdown, which would help.
Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe people who craft lose friends until they either become craft geniuses or have so few friends left that they can spend all year making one half way decent present.
Really, I should just have you all over for dinner. In small groups rather than all at once. There is no safety in numbers as far as my culinary skills are concerned. My food though, is actually winning accolades from the family at the moment, whereas my craft skills are certainly not.
We have no cake left. There were hysterics when the last of the refrigerator cake got eaten and I hadn’t got anything to replace it. I have orders from three different branches of the family for more.
Then today I did baby, Indian style roasties with aged rump steak and a steak sauce Nigella calls barbecueish. It was good. I LOVE the roasties, which taste heavenly dipped in mayo. Everyone else loved everything else and Jason even moaned with appreciation.
I feel I can get no better than a moan, except maybe a swoon, face first into the dinner.
It was a great accolade.
It could be the one thing that redeems me this yuletide.
I did entirely handcrafted/upcycled Christmases the past couple of years (homemade preserves, fancy linen water, Goodwill finds, bespoke knitwear, etc.) but this year I’m phoning it in with purchased edibles, gift cards and a couple crafty things from my friends’ shops. I have the excuse of a new baby but even so I don’t think I’ll go back to a totally handmade Christmas. It requires so much advance planning and still I’m always up until 2 am the week before xmas eve trying to finish presents which makes me feel Grinchy, not festive. Being able to get all the shopping done via the internet is fantastic.
The internet is indeed a beautiful thing.
Tell me about it! Every year I say ‘no christmas knitting’ every year I end up frantically knitting – and swearing – on Christmas Eve and still someone gets one sock/glove/half a scarf and a promise. I am a much better at swearing than knitting. This year I said ‘really no christmas knitting, other than those things already cast on and sitting in the knitting basket (several things obviously because I am fickle as well as slow and sweary). In fact’ I continued, ‘if you see me knitting anything other than the things that are sitting – accusingly – in the knitting basket, then you have permission to shoot me. With a water pistol. Or remonstrate loudly, whichever you’d prefer. This year I am making preserves. Anyone who drinks will have damson gin, those that don’t can have jam.’
Rick and Pesk looked really cheery at the thought of shooting me, but have they fulfilled their end of the bargain? Have they buggery! So far I have finished one of the things in the basket. Then I cast on 3 pairs of fingerless gloves, and did anyone raise so much as eyebrow? No! I made gallons of damson gin which has mysteriously turned to a few pathetic bottles and now it’s too late to make more and I’m sick of the smell. I haven’t made jam. I have nothing to make jam out of other than potatoes and cat hair. I’m going to have to spend all of December making gifts for people(quite possibly out of potatoes and cat hair – any suggestions?) and frankly I’m tired before I start. And come Christmas Eve I’m going to be knitting frantically and swearing all over again. Gah! Bah! and *$%$@#*| to Christmas I say.
no suggestions I’m afraid. I do have a lot of cat hair of my own. Too short too weave. Perhaps some kind of felting?
We went to Build a bloody bear in the Highcross on Saturday to buy gift cards for Christmas and the wee girl behind the desk was amazed that I wasn’t happy to just take the cards that said Happy Birthday, she felt I was being most unreasonable to expect a Happy Christmas card to put my £25 quid pieces of plastic covered in Christmas stockings in. Fancy me expecting a Christmas card to put a Christmas present in! I must be getting very particular in my middle age
Auntiegwen
Your standards are just too high woman!