Friday December 17, 2004
I suppose it’s getting to be Christmas out there. Somewhere over the misty fens. Oh, and on the telly, of course, but then, if you tune around the two hundred or however many it is channels on TV you’re bound to find Christmas almost any time of year.
Not to sound jaundiced, or Scrooged, but we haven’t really started Christmas here yet.
It’s the decorating, you see. Graham finished off the living room a few days back, and very good it looks, too. It was then a matter of choosing between pressing on with another room or switching over to Christmas. We decided to do the master bedroom make-over first, and then to leap off into Christmas as soon as it’s finished. The old wallpaper was stripped in no time at all, and thoroughly glad I was to see it go. The making-good followed, and that went fast, too, as did painting the ceiling. Then, when we turned to painting the woodwork, we hit the snag. Late this evening, it was.
Graham was less than pleased: “This [expletive deleted] one-coat paint not only isn’t [expletive deleted] one-coat, but it doesn’t [expletive deleted] cover as much [expletive deleted] as it’s supposed to. I’m going to need at least two more [expletive deleted] cans.”
“You said it, chooky-boots.”
So, tomorrow, we must make a sweep through what is likely to be a deserted DIY store to pick up more paint, and then start on our Christmas as soon as, well, as soon as we do.
“We’ll have to be sensible about this,” I said. “And declare one day next week to be the beginning of Christmas regardless of whether or not the bedroom’s finished.”
“What do we need to do?”
“I have to make one last Mysterious Present pass, and then a great grocery dash. So all we really need is two days.”
“Let’s make it Wednesday, then, so’s we have a slack day in case of emergencies.”
There you are, then. That explains the absence of carols, tinsel and holly if you come listening through our keyhole and peering through our window this year. Our Christmas is coming. It’s just running a bit late, is all.