Christmas Cheer

Christmas is for the children, I have heard. Well bollocks to that. Christmas is for me me me ... and the children can all feck off.

All right, that's not how this holiday started out, but it's how it's finishing. There's nothing so unattractive as viewing humanity in its rawest form - ie that of children, who have yet to learn the social mores such as saying 'thank you' even if the present they get is utter twong, as far as they're concerned. Couple that with snatching everyone else's presents out of their hand, shouting and demanding to go first, screaming at the first sign of dissent, saying the Christmas lunch you've prepared (with no small effort) looks horrible - and you've got a good idea how close I came to throttling Gemmill today.

Anyway, the children are now being bathed and put to bed. We still have a couple of pressies left to unwrap, and I'm thinking the real business of Christmas can truly begin - sitting down as a family, in the sitting room, reading books and trying hard to ignore everyone. Heh heh. No, we shall consume a few glasses of 'poo, talk as civilised human beings, and count our loot jealously. (As usual, I have by FAR the least of everyone. They all hate me and want me dead.)

So far, the best of my loot has been some bed linen I went to buy with my mother yesterday. Officially it's Fisher's pressie, but seeing as how I'll be sharing it whenever she uses it, I figure it's mine as well! The rest have all been books, I think, which are always sensible. Sister gave me a beautiful edition of the works of Virginia Woolf, of whom I'm a great - if struggling - admirer. I always find her quite slow, but ultimately rewarding.

Anyway, I'm going to sign off right now and be sociable.