I keep imagining the above being recited a la Saturday afternoon Grandstand football scores reporter. Bah Humbug 1 (voice gently rises) Christmas Spirit 0 (voice gently falls). And in typing it out I realize I had Bah Humbug playing at home. Christmas Spirit were away, they never stood a chance.
I hate Christmas out here, it's just so wrong. To use a delightful Californian expression, it sucks. I don't get to see my family, and it's non-stop blue skies and sunshine (oh, poor me.....). Usually at some point in the run-up to Christmas I'll get that wave of Christmas spirit, however fleeting, that 'Joy to the World' feeling. Not this year.
I tried. We did a family bike ride down to the ocean (non-stop blue skies and sunshine again) and there were dolphins leaping and pirouetting like it was going out of fashion, or maybe as if they were being pursued by a great white. Who knows. It was good fun, but just not Christmas. Where's the pub and the sideways sleet? When we got back home I cracked open the Delia Smith and baked 24 mince pies and a meat and potato pie to try and get in the mood, but came to realize that spending hours baking cold-weather food for the edification of one person is just daft.
I then tried channeling Christmas Spirit with the use of copious amounts of red wine. Not a good idea, which is why I'm sitting here at 4am writing this post. Alcohol is a depressant Wrigs you moron.
Anyway, I realize Christmas Spirit is a deeper thing than Delia Smith (did I just write that?), and that it's still not officially Christmas morning so Christmas Spirit may eke out a late equalizer. But I felt like purging this Bah Humbug feeling. Particularly as I have 21 mince pies left to go.
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