I think I might put up the Christmas decorations this weekend.
It’s fine – I’ve held out till December. Which, I might add, is more than can be said for the people across the way from me, whose house has boasted a display not unlike the Blackpool Illuminations since the end of October. This is the same house that was raided by the police a few months ago. The police emerged, triumphant, with several hundred pounds’ worth of… fireworks. Bravo. Always good to know that they’re dealing with the underlying problem of firework abuse in our estate; everyone knows that’s the really big issue.
But I digress. It’s Christmas soon! I am no longer going to be a killjoy who says “But it’s too early” and moans about money and consumerism and materialism and whatever other isms are lurking underneath the surface waiting to suck the joy out of the festive season. I’m only complaining in order to fit in. Let it be known: Hails loves Christmas. Not just ‘Christmas’, but all the things we associate with it. I love Christmastime.
I love twinkly lights, I love carols, I love nativity scenes, I love tinsel, I love Santa hats, I love cold weather and woolly hats and scarves, I love festive Coke ads, I love Christmas trees, I love Bailey’s on ice, I love glitter and snowflakes and sparkly stuff, I love carol services, I love cards, I love The Snowman, I love Quality Street, I love Christmas special episodes, I love crackers and their silly hats and bad jokes, I love the smell of glazed ham, I love Christmas parties, I love snow-in-a-can, I love warm fires and cosy nights in.
Christmas. Love it. The whole shebang. And it starts on Saturday in my house. Hooray!