The Post of Christmas Past...

The Good Old Days!

This is me aged 2 on Christmas Day. I can't tell you the year as it will do something terrible to the space-time continuum and we could all be sucked into the ether for such knowledge. Or I could die of supreme mortification - whichever is the sooner.

I actually remember this photograph being taken. It was probably something unearthly like 6.00 in the morning as I was one of those precious children who just couldn't sleep for desperation of wanting to hear Santa's sleigh bells. I actually DID hear them one year and was convinced I saw a flash of Rudolph's nose fly over the houses across the street.

As you can see, I have a hand well and truly stuffed into my sack clamouring for the next present. And you can also see a rather unusual looking teddy bear moulded from white plastic lying on the pillow behind me (VERY trendy in the sixties, I'll have you know) which I could never quite warm too. He just wasn't the best bed-buddy if you know what I mean. I remember trying very hard to get him to lay nicely beside me like other children's bears did, but his ear always ending up gouging a ravine in my cheek. Still, I did get a lovely, softer other bear, which I was bought the following year as consolation for having a baby brother.

The picture below was taken at my Great Aunt Ivy's on Boxing Day the same year. If you squint, or embiggen the pic, you can see me looking a bit bewildered, sitting on my mum's knee at the back next to the telly box (probably still b/w). As I was the only child (until the following October) I always felt a bit overwhelmed but loved all the attention (which dwindled the following year... can we see a pattern emerging?) that Christmas brought. I used to be so thrilled that grown ups could have fun, considering that for the rest of the year all they seemed to do was shout, scowl, argue and moan about everything. Of course I never understood the part that Sherry had to play in this scenario until much later on in life!

These were the best Christmasses. Ever. When the dinner cooked itself and appeared from nowhere smelling heavenly and tasting so magical; Maltesers came in boxes and selection packs came stocking-shaped with a netting around them. The heavenly smell of Pretty Peach Avon perfume and the horrible American Tan tights from Aunties with no imagination.

I loved being allowed to light sparklers after dinner over the fireplace; sitting on Dad's knee and being so awed that he could crack two Almond nuts together with his bare hands. I loved the way my Mum and my Nan's cheeks got pinker and pinker as the day wore on, especially during the card games that went on way past my bedtime. I loved being allowed to just lift a chocolate from a bowl and eat it without needing permission and I loved that everybody I loved was all together in the same place, having fun and laughing. The only thing I didn't like was that it was over way, way too soon and I'd feel a little tug of sadness that the excitement was passing for another year.

But, here it is (again) MERRY CHRISTMAS!

And a Merry, Massive MASSIVE THANKS to everybody who's visited my blog this year, read, commented and come back for more - here's to more of the same next year! *chinks glasses*.

Tree Guesses...

It's a tree Jim, but not as we know it!

Ever since the "Tiny Tears incident" circa 1970, Christmas  hasn't been the same.

Not a difficult thing to appreciate if you can imagine being a young, eager girl, faced with the seventies Poundstretcher equivalent of this gorgeous cherubic baby that (should have) floppy 'lifelike' limbs, an open mouth, cry 'real' tears and pee into it's own nappy (spares as standard).

In a bid to curtail the endless wails of disappointment rending from No.4 that particular Christmas morning, my father whipped the solid, plastic, rigid 'baby' which Santa had clearly hoped I could be fobbed off with (I wasn't ever told he didn't exist, I just decided he didn't that year ) from my sobbing arms and to the shed for some light cosmetic intervention.

When he returned, the doll had an open mouth and another opening 'down below'.  From somewhere appeared squares cut out as 'nappies' and so, slightly placated and a little bit wary, I held my baby gently, rocked her and fed the bottle of water into her new mouth.  Then excitedly waited for her to pee so I could change her nappy and show my Mum how clever I was at practising to look after my own baby.

What I wasn't expecting was a steady trickle of water to start appearing from her neck, underarms and leg joints.  And if I was worried about becoming a mother before this, then the baby leaking from all areas just about finished me off.  There was no way I was ever going to be doing this for real, thanks very much.

So you can forgive me if the magic of Christmas kind of went downhill from thereon in.

I do try to hold out a small glimmer of hope that something magical might happen around the festive season and I also try not to let my Grinchy ways affect others around me;  I think on the whole it works.

However, this year, after agreeing that we couldn't be arsed to even bring the tree down from the loft and spend the three hours it usually takes us to collate, assemble and erect the 6 foot monstrosity that is an alpine fir to be reckoned with, we made our own 'bauble-hanger'.  (See pic).  Out of bits of wire from the garage, one of the tall vases from our wedding day, the bottom part of the hat-box in which I had beautiful flowers delivered this year by my writing lovelies, then decorated it.

No trees were harmed, no tempers frayed, and we had a lovely, creative time twisting the 'branches' and hanging the balls and standing back and admiring our handicraft.

And if that's as festive as I get this year, then I've already done well!

Two fingers to fudge...

Christmas is cancelled, 

because we’re getting fat.

Please give any edibles to Alice or the cats.

If you haven’t got the message

we AREN’T opening Santa’s sack,

don’t be offended come your Birthday

at getting your chocolates back!

So, here it is...

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank YOU ALL for visiting this year and having a wee read of my whitterings and taking time to make comment on them when you get the urge.  It's lovely knowing that somewhere, sometimes I make somebody LOL (and 18 months ago I thought that was something only lazy labradors did against the nearest person's leg).
So, before I ruin my mascara and start putting Kate Winslet to shame, I'd just like to wish you a Verry Merry Christmas, A Joyous and Resolution-free New Year (otherwise it ends in tears and I don't wish that on anyone) and a peaceful and healthy 2010.
*cheers*
(oh, that's Ant by the tree, btw - the Ginger twin of the black and white mess that is Dec) (don't ask - he has Gingivitius and the rest you really don't want to know this close to Christmas dinner).

The sights of Christmas...

I have a feeling I shall be spending a lot of time holed up in front of our lovely fireplace  during the next fortnight.  Honestly, when the fire's lit, I almost get a Christmassey feeling (unusual for a Realist like me) and all that's missing is a view of the lovely festive cover of the Christmas Radio Times which is on the coffee table too far in the foreground to see - just as Christmassey.


 That's an old one btw, just in case you think you've gone and bought the wrong one.

And of course, there's nothing more uplifting than the sound of the Sally Army on street corners in the snow on Christmas Eve, is there?  Am I getting a bit behind myself now? I remember watching them from my bedroom window and thinking how cold they must be but how wonderful it was to hear.  One year I even convinced myself I heard Santa's sleigh bells.  No, honestly.  Way before I discovered the delights of Brandy and Babycham too -  seriously!

The sound of Christmas...