Tuesday December 12, 2006
“So,” I said when we got home about seven this evening. “Is it to be Christmas shopping tomorrow, or do you want to do IKEA instead, like you said yesterday?”
“How long can we leave Christmas?”
“Well, people used to do it all on Christmas Eve when I was a kid.”
“On your head be it. Just so long as I can have my IKEA breakfast as reward for driving up to Bristol so early.”
“That’s a given.”
Actually, it wasn’t much of a choice. Graham really wants to get all the stuff we need to finish doing up the house bought, paid for, and ready for action first thing after he finishes work, and Christmas shopping doesn’t really take all that long. One frantic day of shopping for presents—he’s still to give me his list so’s I can shop online—and another intensive day of food shopping for the big days, that’ll do it. I’ve already started picking up a few Christmas goodies each time I go to the supermarket and it’d be difficult for us to starve with what I’ve already stowed away. In particular, I’ve stocked Dolly’s cupboard to bursting so as to be sure that she doesn’t suffer if there are any of those inexplicable shortages around the end of the year.
One year we’ll have it all done and dusted weeks in advance. Not this year, though. And to be honest, I’m not convinced I’d really enjoy a completely organised and clinical approach to the festival. We do things best when we’re under pressure.
And so the days are ticking past, busy but not exciting. A bit like my journal, really. Some years I call a halt to journalling around this time. I’m not going to this year but there are days when it’s awfully tempting.