Man, this is turning out to be the least Christmassy Christmas ever. Not only is my boyfriend grieving and therefore NOT in the mood for festivities, but the office has also been infected with an outbreak of Deadly Chicken Pox for Grown-Ups (and the people who weren't sure whether they had had the Pox as a kid, now know for sure). All this, and the dessert we had for our Christmas dinner last night was bread-and-butter pudding. Let me tell you, bread-and-butter pudding is the most lame-ass dessert ever invented - I know it was a war-time staple, and a lot of British people have very fond memories of stale bread with egg and sultanas, but it really is disgusting. I really cannot convey the full extent of my disappointment.
In order to generate a little Christmas spirit within my soul, I was trying to remember the best Christmas ever. After much thought, I decided it was a toss-up between The One Where I Got My Red & White Roller-skates (why walk when you can roll? was my credo that year), and The One Where We All Got A Trampoline. How my parents managed to keep that one quiet, I will never know. All I remember is the sheer excitement we all experienced on being taken outside and shown our most excellent new present, and the fights that ensued over whose turn it was next. That trampoline was loved to death, all the way through Primary and High school. I did my homework on it, zapped my brothers with static built up on it, sunbathed on it over Summer, and made up crazy-fun games involving the sprinkler shooting up through the trampoline meshing. Ahhh, Christmas in sunny Melbourne.
This morning there was a twinkly layer of frost on everything though, and the holly looked so pretty with the little red berries winking through the bushes, and the sharp little leaves coated in ice. It almost makes up for the fact that my ears have snapped clean off my head with cold.