This week has been a good one for food. Thanks to non-traditional (or at least not traditionally British) Christmas dinners, I’ve had five different meats over the last three days, if you’ll indulge my reference to pork loin and gammon as different things.
And I’ve two days running had my ideal Christmas – sod presents, decorations and all that, my Christmas consists of three things in chronological order:
Today’s the third day that Joseph’s spent off around the place without Eric or I, and for once I feel kind of guilty. The previous two days he was kind of a pain, but so far today he’s been soppy and cuddly, but I still have to give him away. Unfair! D= Still, I’m not exactly feeling great this morning, so going back to bed is a remarkably appealing idea.
I wish I was more constant in my feelings for Joseph, really. On a calm, cuddly day I don’t want to see him go, but on an annoying screamy day he can’t get out of here fast enough!
What the hell? Suddenly, it’s the 19th of December. It’s my last day at work before two weeks of Christmas holiday. But where was the build-up? Where the sense of the joyous release of the holiday season?
Is it a sign that I’m getting older – or perhaps that I’m the father of a toddler – that I haven’t felt excited even at the prospect of two weeks off work? Truth be told, I’ve barely noticed that time has passed in the last six months or so. And only a decade ago, December was far, far too long!