Christmas Eve

There is a peculiar air of insanity that pervades the shops at this exact time of year, the move from buying tat to give tomorrow has given way to providing a feeding frenzy. Sharks dressed as little old ladies, ladies who lunch and the saggy eyed-why-am-I-standing-in-a-queue-in –Markies brigade who are contemplating the group insanity of rational people queuing for food at 6 in the morning- and wondering why, but strangely vindicated because they are not alone.

So why get up at an unreasonable hour? Because presumably there will be nothing left at 8am or perhaps it won’t be as fresh! NO it is insane organisation at its best…wait until the last day, pick up food as early as possible, feel righteously pious for sacrificing sleep to deliver the best possible raw ingredients to an already stuffed fridge.

I stood in the pre 8am slot at 7.55 (I am getting better at taking things to the wire –OU TMA experiences to thank for that!) and was astounded at the Disney snaked queue ahead of me. I was quite sure I was only one of a select few insane folk out, until I reached the car park, not choc-o-bloc but not empty, in fact half full. Markies was throbbing with people picking up bottles of Cava only to be reminded of the licensing laws. Strange flowers were perched on trolleys that Dale Winton would have been proud of, and the same trolleys were used to plough their way through any pretence of Christmas spirit.

I stood bemused in front of another weary person as I was asked for the letter I was sent. I received no letter, then I realised she meant the copy order…Order validated she quickly brought my organic turkey breast and ham joint to the till, flashing them across the bar code reader she realised the totals did not match, this was due to the fact that I had impulsively added croquettes and two mini Christmas puddings to the basket. She apologised, she had started at 6 and was obsessively double checking everything in case the wrong thing was given out. ‘Aha’ says brain ‘that’s why you are here early, you don’t trust them!’

Bags carted to the car and home at 8.20. To late to go back to bed, as smallest son has a heavy cold and is upset by the fact that he is losing his voice-he needs it for Christmas, and has woken throughout the night to make sure it was still there. So a dose of Calpol to accompany the Weetabix and orange juice and hot tears, is swiftly administered.

And now the big clean awaits. A day of berating family for being lazy buggers, and washing the skirting boards - Mum is coming for dinner tomorrow and you know it is the first place she will look. But rest assured she is sure to hone in on the things you missed. Like the windows or the unkempt grass or no pepper or teabags....

Well good luck guys, and may tomorrow bring peace and content to your homes.

P.S. My poem is lying in a thousand pieces, so I have to swept it into a shoe box for safekeeping!!