Christmas time. A most glorious excuse to vacate the miserable penitentiary of work, indulge your gluttonous desires, drown oneself with your preferred debilitating libation and collapse into a diabetic coma, as your partner tries desperately to locate your already diminishing pulse. What better way to commemorate the life of our Lord and saviour, Jesus of Neverland. There’s so much about Christmas lurid milieu to appreciate. The bells of Holly. The nog of the egg. Pear tree nesting partridges and Mistletoe infused wine. But, do you know what I love most about this extravagant holiday? Mandatory time off.
A modest, yet necessary sabbatical from a job I loathe. Further enriched by the directional allocation of holiday that extends my initially brief respite, into the New Year. Sure, watching my excitable daughter tear into her soon to be neglected presents like some feral canine is a cherished Christmas activity, but the freedom to simply lounge on the sofa, eating my weight in Toblerone, Jaffa Cakes and Ferrero Rocher – the confectionery trifecta, is a far more endearing prospect. Considering the arrogant sycophant wretches that run this place, operating in their own churlish little sorority, I have remained relatively sane. Encouraged by the potential rejuvenation afforded from a such a long intermission.
Many are likely preparing for the long delayed visit of family and friends, after a Christmas isolated from the world. Even though technology has enabled us to maintain contact with loved ones, it’s still a poor substitute for genuine human contact. Lord knows my partners gregarious effervescence had been stunted by enforced isolation that prevented her from seeing her mother last year. With new variants threatening to displace yuletide festivities for a second year, I should be more appreciative for the chance to see family again. But honestly, I’m just looking forward to doing absolutely nothing!
Whatever you’re doing, have fun, stay safe and have a wonderful and Covid free Christmas.