Monthly Archives: December 2008

christmas cometh yet again

It’s Blackberry’s second Christmas and she’s already decided she hates it. Curious trees with curious lights that produce shrieks of ‘NO BLACKBERRY’ every time she approaches them; the postman, for whom she reserves particular venom, ringing the doorbell obviously just to taunt; strange people upstairs (where Miss B is not allowed); parcels, none of which are addressed to her. Nope, Christmas is no time to be a dog. If only she knew how I sometimes envy her! No shopping lists; no hangovers; no credit crunch.

But our whole family is together for a whole week in a way that Blackberry’s never will be – or at least I hope not. Six Jack Russells at the chewy twoey stage plus a couple of JR parents would spell the end of civilised living. Leaving the dogs aside, I think that human togetherness is what Christmas is mainly about this year, which suits me just fine except for the laundry. I’ve got used to the once a week wash. But then who cares because although I know Christmas is a wonderful time for children, it’s an even more wonderful time for parents whose children are grown up but still want to come home. If an orchestra were to strike up during dinner when we’re all round the table, I might well burst into song. ‘Let’s make a musical and do it right here!’

Happy Christmas!

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crunching the credit

Well, I don’t know. The credit crunch makes for strange behaviour. The other day I returned a de-icer spray (unused, naturally) to the shop. My husband had bought it and we don’t need it. The price was £1.50. Is this prudence or madness?

Now I’m gazing at the windows wondering if we really need the window cleaner.

I blame the Prime Minister. The more he tells me to spend, spend, spend, the more I want to save, save, save. Five seconds of his hectoring brings out my natural obstinacy and helps me to understand exactly why my ancestors remained Catholics during the Reformation. Asked nicely, I’m sure they’d have said ‘ok then’, but ordered to renounce their popery by a black-clad Gordon Brownish predecessor, I’m not surprised they cut up rusty. ‘Get lost!’ they cried. It’s my cry now.

In the end, of course, Reformation-wise, my family paid in blood and money. I’m hoping to be spared the blood, but doubt we’ll be spared the money – which is why I won’t cancel the window cleaner. I’d rather give the contents of my purse to him than to Mr. Brown.

Damn, I seem to be spending after all.

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