Friday, 25 December 2009

Festive fatigue; and where's my dinner.

I apologise for a lack of recent posts; I have enjoyed an extended period of hard-work, much sleeping and solving of imaginery problems, but I am now delighted to say that on this fateful Christmas day I have now again found the least division of an hour to once more rattle personal agrievements into public ears.

I love Christmas, and not for the presents, it's all a huge capitalism conspiracy anyway. No, it's for the little things. The gathering at stupid-o'clock to open aforementioned gifts, wrapping over-sized ribbons around my under-sized dog's necks (pictures to follow; I left my camera cable at home) and being forced to listen endlessly to the entire oeuvre of Mozart or Handel. Other highlights include crying with my sister to the emotional heights of Lost and Found, watching my Nan getting steadily intoxicated from 4pm onwards, and joining my friends at around midnight in some forsaken haunt manned by confused bar-staff. All these little things make Christmas, not the fucking indoctrinated philosophy that western society seems to believe it's all spend, spend, spend, when in actual fact it's more drink, drink, drink.

In general I love the little things in life, these are, in my opinion, happiness embodied. Grand displays of love or affection to little for me, it's your mate buying you a pint, it's holding your girlfriend's hand, it's noticing that BBC iPlayer's volume goes up to eleven. On that note I'll leave you to all get riotously pissed. I'll make a post sometime around New Year's Eve about all the great bollocks that's happened this year and how happy I am to be getting older. Not. (Insert generic Jonnie's-an-old-man joke here).

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