Well it’s nearly here… just 3 more sleeps. In fact, 2 more sleeps and it will be the night that Santa comes. He’d better be careful sneaking about at night in 21st century
I don't need to worry about buying presents for lots of people as one of the good things about coming from a completely dysfunctional family is that it explodes pretty quickly. By the time I was about ten years old, all my aunts, uncles and cousins had been cursed and erased from the family tree. Photographs torn up and binned, names never to be mentioned again. Eventually even close relatives would also become casualties on the bipolar battlefield.
Despite coming from a large Catholic family and having God only knows how many relatives (he may know but I don’t even remember their names) I am now in contact with only my sister and one of my four brothers. That’s it, them and their kids. Tomorrow is the day we meet up to exchange Christmas presents. It’s a tense affair, Christmas always is. Christmas here has always been a time of fighting and feuding. So, only two of them left now… but that’s still the potential for two huge explosions. The last time my sister exploded we didn’t speak for seven years and I still don't know why she exploded?
After tomorrow we can look forward to the pleasure of Christmas day with the in-laws. A grand trip back in history to Victorian values where I daren’t open my mouth as anything I say will receive the retort “but what do you mean, why would you say such a thing?” Even after several attempts at explaining the meaning of satire, irony and humour in general, they will still look at me perplexed, hurt and angry that their only daughter could marry such a useless buffoon and once more they’ll say “but I still don’t know what you mean. Why would you say such a thing?”. It’s at times like these you really wish guns were more freely available in the