Penicillin for Christmas

I am in no position to moan about Christmas. On the contrary, I have had a wonderful lead up to the festive season which, considering I work in retail and have a two year old, wasn't exactly how I imagined it.

This year I have been one of those annoying people who is super organised and got all the gift shopping done early, all the food shopping frozen and was able to tell a manic mother-in-law (who phoned Christmas Eve to see if there was anything we needed while she dashed out to the shops) that there was nothing we'd forgotten.

That has not always been the case.

I can remember staring at the rows of empty shelves in our local Spa where the bread should have been (I'd been hoping to get a pack of bread buns - they didn't even have a stale pitta) and wondering how I could improvise turkey sandwiches when all I had was the turkey.

I can remember going for a drink on the afternoon of Christmas Eve one year only to leave the pub in a blind panic convinced I had left the oven on (which I had - with the turkey in it)

I once ate my Christmas dinner off an ironing board, as we had no dining table.

This to me, is part of the charm of Christmas. People get hung up on making things perfect, on striving to find the perfect gifts, the perfect turkey, the perfect napkins and the perfect centre piece for their perfect table. They drive themselves into a frenzy, rushing to the shops to buy more than they need, and certainly more than they can afford, in order to appease some festive demon who always whispers not enough.

My Christmases are different.

We buy presents, not as many as we used to as more and more of our friends and relatives have joined the no present pact. We enjoy turkey and stuffing sandwiches on Christmas Eve and a fabulous turkey dinner (with all the trimmings) on the day itself. I have even been known to have Slade playing in the background as I give my roasties a shake.

A little Christmas cheese is often unavoidable.

The self-imposed stress, however, is. Does it actually matter if you haven't got enough dinner plates or champagne flutes? Will Auntie Pam mind eating hers off a plastic plate with the face of a cheeky monkey peering at her through the sprouts? Does grandad complain about having a deckchair? Or being sat next to second nephew on a barstool? Or are they just glad to be around family and friends who actually want their company?

We told everyone this year, don't bother buying us gifts, just come and see us. Bring a bottle of wine or a bag of Doritos if you must bring something and you'll be welcomed with open arms.

Christmas isn't about the ridiculous amounts of cash we fling at people in lieu of genuine affection. It isn't about being cooped up in a strange house with twelve grumpy and flatulent people who you haven't seen since, well, last Christmas (for a damn good reason) It isn't about settling old scores.

Christmas, for me, has become a beacon of hope in a drab and dreary year. It is the one day we were guaranteed off together (is was not always so - bloody call centres!) It is about spending quality time with our little girl who we have not broken the bank to please. Who cares if we didn't have mountains of presents? Who cares that our tree came out of a box? Who cares that I couldn't drink the bottle of wine given to us for Christmas day because I was on penicillin for a throat infection? We were together.

The highlight of my Christmas 2008?

Taking our little girl around the block on Christmas afternoon on her new pink bike. To most folk Christmas is expensive. To me, it's priceless.

Return to Azeroth

I suppose I should preheat the oven. Tonight I'm eating my hat.

Thought we had left this place behind us but, with the lure of old friends who, let's face it were the real attraction to playing these online games, we have bit the bullet and returned to World of Warcraft.

Not that Age of Conan wasn't a fabulous game, on the contrary it was too good. There was too much to do, too many places to go and too little time to really get to grips with such an expansive and detailed game that we ended up playing less and less and eventually cancelling our subscriptions for.

Then a whisper came from over the frozen wastes of Northrend.

We left a handful of good friends there, guys whose humour and conversation we have missed and, although we have made some good friends by treading other waters for a while (you guys know who you are) we could never replace the community we had built up there.

And so we return.

Save Me From Santa

Took my two and half year old to her playgroup Christmas party this afternoon. Not quite the glitzy lavish affair I'm sure Christmas parties will become when she's older with girls competing for how much of their mother's make-up they can steal and snogging boys just to see if they taste of pringles (what? like you never did that!)

It was as modest a gathering as thirty under threes in one room could be. The mothers/grannies/carers got coffee and homemade cake. The little ones got cocktail sausages and hulahoops, so much fun was had by all.

The highlight of the afternoon was the appearance of the long awaited Santa. He wasn't very portly, his beard wasn't real and his wellies were green rather than black but he did us proud. All the children received a present (a book rather than sweets) and his visit was short and sweet so no one caught him removing his beard to have a craftymince pie in the kitchen.

My daughter was terrified of him.

That is not to say she recoiled in horror but she would not be coerced into going anywhere near him. I couldn't blame her. I have drilled it into her from the time she started walking that she holds my hand, never wander off and never talks to people she doesn't know. And here I was telling her it's okay to go talk to a strange guy with a beard and a sack who wants to know what she wants for Christmas so he can climb down our chimney when she's asleep.

And we wonder why kids have nightmares.

Not to be deterred, however (she is my daughter after all) when asked to tell Sants what she wanted for Christmas she cupped her hands to her face and shouted over the crowd that she wanted 'a pink bike and a pink helmet'. He gave a thumbs up from a distance and she seemed satisfied with that.

Let's hope he has enough room on is sleigh.

Makka Pakka Snowman

Anyone with kids under five will know who this is supposed to be. I appreciate as he started to melt he cut quite a sad figure on the grass outside our house but he was better than the Iggle Piggle we attempted first :)