I’m a bit snarky today. The snarkiness is probably due to my being out on a school night.
My mood could also be blamed on my pre-Christmas recurring nightmare. I start having it just about the middle of September, and it carries on right up until Christmas Eve. It involves my panicking at the realisation that it’s Christmas Eve and I haven’t bought a thing, and I’m wearing shoes made of concrete that render me incapable of walking fast enough to get to the very last turkey on the shelves, and just as I get there, a hatchet faced old crone snatches it from my scrabbly hands.
Have you started your Christmas shopping yet? Yes? No? I’m not sure how I feel about Christmas. I swing dramatically between feeling warm and tingly and wishing good will towards all men; and making a cat's arse face at the towering heaps of Quality Street tins in Tesco and saying things like ‘Och, it’s too commercialised” or “Och, it gets earlier every year’ or sometimes “Och, all we used to get was a tangerine in a stocking and a selection box but we were happy”.
Still, I get sucked in to the Christmas hype. My internal jukebox is already playing Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you” on a hellish loop. This is what purgatory must feel like.
However, this morning I paused mid tights-putting-on and stared open mouthed and round eyed at a Christmassy advert during GMTV. I was mesmerised by the shiny things on the advert before giving myself a metaphorical shake. You see I don’t need anything else. I have enough stuff. I’m a marketer’s dream. I get sucked in by the shiny things. They beckon me. They flirt with me. They say ‘Buy me, Lindsey, and all the boys will fancy you’. I’ve most recently parted with good money for a perfume that’s not a perfume - it’s more of an “effect”. Aye the effect was that it gave everyone within whiffing distance the dry boak.
My friends snigger still at my coughing up twenty quid for a handbag sized can of oxygen. I gave them daily updates on my improving health and vigour, obtained by inhaling oxygen from a can. My hair - so shiny! My skin - so clear and glowing! Then someone helpfully pointed out that I was doing it wrong. The nose bit was on upside down, and the oxygen was mainly disappearing into my cleavage. I hope it was grateful.
Last night I was browsing through some kitchen gadget porn catalogue and found a twirling spaghetti fork (batteries included). “Aha!” I thought “The very dab! I’ll never have to twirl my fork manually again” In reality of course it’ll be cannibalised for its batteries within two days and it will join the jumper shaver (those bobbly bits on your woolly jumpers are so irritating aren’t they?) in the kitchen rummage drawer, where I’ll curse at it every time I catch my finger on its prongs whilst rummaging for that lighter with the nice scene from Las Vegas on it.
So this year, I’m embracing enoughness. Don’t buy me anything. No, honestly I mean it.
That said, there’s a lovely set of retro flying ducks I’d like from Santa if he’s listening. I need them. My life will be complete.
PS - A propos of nothing at all, as my mother was wont to say, in the days when she still had her marbles - what has Katie Price done to her face? She has a top lip like the Broon’s Bairn. That cultural reference will mean nothing to non Scottish readers. Google it.
Lindsey Mason is a finalist in stv.tv's The Write Factor competition. The views expressed are not necessarily those of STV plc. If you would like to read more from this writer, use our comment system below.
Last updated: 26 November 2009, 19:40
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