I was just humming that song to myself in an attempt to be festive ... "Christmas time, Valium and wine ..." It's only 8.30am. The world has gone mad.
I'm told it's rather cold outside; but from the depths of the duvet with two pairs of socks, pyjamas, a cardigan, a dressing gown and curtains drawn; I'm actually rather snug - and I don't really intend to move.
I hate Christmas. I hate the flashing lights and baubals; I hate the frantic frenzy - as if the world will somehow explode should we not have neatly wrapped presents under a perfectly decorated tree by midnight on christmas eve. And somehow, after weeks of torturous shopping and preparation, we're meant to enjoy ourselves as we stuff our faces with turkey and unwrap the presents we didn't want anyway. Forgive my cynicism, but there's little wonder I'm currently on redial to repeat prescriptions for more Valium [as are the rest of the town, so it seems, by the constant engaged tone]. Last year I was dishing out rice to the masses in Kolkata, the year before that I ran away to a convent where I spent Christmas with a group of strangers and had a jolly good time walking over the Downes and drinking organic Shiraz.
Christmas in suburbia always pushes me over the edge.
In fact, let me tell you about Sunday. Emotional, tired, upset, and a complete failiure as a friend - I decided I needed some air. Arranged to meet ex[?] boyfriend in the forest for what was going to be a crisp walk in the woods, where I could talk about my decreasing levels of sanity and secretly hope to be whisked off my feet, run away to Vegas [or Gretna Green] and get hitched. Unfortunately my beloved car, a rather charming black Golf known affectionately as Venus, had other plans and died on me at a perilous point of the [icy] Bewdley Bypass. She did the same thing the week before in the fast lane of the M42. Freezing and miserable, my first reaction [even before hitting the hazard lights] was to burst into tears on the steering wheel in a self indulgent it's-not-fair-poor-poor-me tantrum. I then text [ex?] boyfriend to come to my rescue, popped another valium, and somehow got myself together enough to phone the AA. This was going relatively well, until they asked where I was: "The Bewdley Bypass" I yelled, on the side of the road, perishing. "Do you know what number that road is please?" "No" I said; "It's just the Bewdley Bypass". We continued to have this conversation; could I see any shops [no, it's a bypass, duh], any road signs etc. until my phone credit died and I was left unsure whether they were coming or not. [Ex?] boyfriend arrived in his battered car. I called my father [who I hadn't actually spoken to in a week after a family spat]. Cue family reunion on side of road. AA are called once again, who inform us that actually - we need to call the police due to perilous location.
I could go on. As is stands, Venus is still having surgery.
Then there is the small matter of the Student Loans Company. It is a truth universally acknowledged that I owe them money. I waited, on hold, for no less than 40minutes to pay them a mere fraction of my debt, listening to hideous music, being told every few seconds that I was being held in a queue. Finally I got through to what I thought was a human being.
"Before we can go any further" she said, "I need your secret answer"
There was a pause
"Umm, I don't think I have one" I responded
"Yes you do, everyone does"
"Well, could you tell me what the secret question was please?"
"We asked you [may I add, in 1999] what your favourite musical instrument is"
"Did you? Are you sure?"
"Yes Miss Worthington, quite sure."
My favourite things are prone to change on a regular basis, and as I've failed at numerous musical instruments over the years, this was not going to be easy.
"I need the 3rd and 4th letters" she continued; evidently a little vexed at my lack of response ...
It was at this point that my phone died.
