Ho Fucking Ho
Greetings to you from Santa's Grotto.
Decorating my flat at Christmas has never been on my agenda. Some years I have hunted out that one piece of purple tinsel and the 2 foot plastic tree, but most years it has stayed in the loft, probably crying into it's baubles from the rejection.
This morning my friend came over to dye my hair (chocolate brown, looks good enough to eat), her following 2 customers of the day had cancelled so she suggested we nipped down the pub for a spot of lunch and a quick drinky poos dahhlings.
Just as I was finishing my sausage baguette, I glanced to see a worrying mad glint in her eyes.
"I want to decorate your flat"
"wha?"
"Let's go and buy some Christmas decorations"
"but I.."
"DO NOT deny me the pleasure, I feel the need to be creative"
"ppfftt whatever"
"Oh it'll be greeeeeat fun!!"
"Hmmm, totally"
So here I sit amongst 100 large red flashing lights (8 settings, one of them being 'Rave Wave', which I intend to test out after my 10pm morphine, grooovey), psychedelic papers chains, far too many hangy baubly things, strung tinsel, set of matching santas, refurbished tree and a glass nativity ornament.
Has it cured 35 years of bah humbugness? Has it feck! Then again, maybe it will grow on me, I'm very open minded to the powers of persuasion.
