An update from last year...
Here we go again. Holidays are coming, holidays are coming....
Oh sod off, I hope that Coca Cola lorry crashes into a snow drift somewhere south of nowhere. The endless adverts are rolling around again, seemingly on a loop flogging tat that you wouldn't buy any other time of the year. John Lewis has an old chap on the moon looking through a telescope. Smyths toys have appeared again (Who?) Asda have rolled out a series of adverts that are so annoying you want to break the TV every time one appears. Even Aldi have clambered up on to the tinsel bandwagon. It makes me yearn for personal injury ads, or God forbid, PPI claims.
Bah humbug? Damn straight.
You see, I have a brain injury and that takes pretty much all of the ‘glee’ out of Christmas.
Alcohol becomes a must at this time of year. I don't drink; Ho, ho, ho.
Presents, endless request for overpriced crap from the children; I'm not rich. Ho, ho, ho.
Decorations, forty tonnes of them everywhere you look. All over houses, inside shops, hanging from streetlights; I hate flashing lights most of the year anyway. Ho, ho, bloody ho.
Oh, and Xmas cake is utterly vile in the extreme. Ho, ho, ho.
Plus, frankly, I'd rather have a curry than a plate of Turkey and stuffing. Christmas really isn't for me. After last year’s ‘story time’ the kids know that Santa won’t be coming this year due to the consequences of that sleigh crash just off the M6 twelve months ago. We’ll mourn Rudolph who had been too badly injured to fly. A vet had been forced to put him out of his misery. It’s was for the best. Ho, ho, ho.
Stress is the mortal enemy of anyone with a brain injury. Sadly, stress goes alongside Christmas like black goes with white, bread goes with milk, or, more relevantly, Tom goes with Jerry. It’s a right royal pain in the proverbial. Everyone MUST be happy and smiley, we all should be fed within an inch of our lives and most importantly of all… every penny in our possession must be spent on the aforementioned tat and given as ‘gifts’. Every penny, and, all too often, so much more.
And for relaxation, Ant and bloody Dec will spend two hours of the day (or more) proving that beyond all reasonable expectations, they are still popular.
Aah, stress. Happy Christmas one and all. Pass the Nurofen. Again. In fact, wrap some and make that my gift. THAT, I would appreciate.