Just interrupting the Raylene story, now that we’re finally getting out of the kitchen, for some personal notes.
I’ve just bought a lot of champagne and white wine for Christmas, which is largely, damn near entirely, a close family occasion. Usually I like to host as many people as I can, people who aren’t doing family Christmases, but the family outvoted me on that one. So there it is.
As for me, I spent three days sleeping round the clock, hardly getting out of bed, after finding that I didn’t have cancer. Then I got flu and something horrible and gastric (you don’t wanna know about it).
Finally I got up, weak as a kitten.
Usually I run down to the bottom of the nearby waterfall and back, but all I’ve been able to manage is a walk down my own property and then back to the house. Exhausted.
So that, I think, is my body telling me enough is enough. It’s been a year of death and separation and loss, and various systems want me to take it easy for a while. So I’ll be sensible for a change.
I’m basically stoical, cheerful and optimistic, and I intend to stay that way. But I’m not feeling any sort of Christmas spirit – no jollity, and I have to remember that I love people – not all the people, obviously. Still, I’m going to get back to normal.
On the day, since my father isn’t able to do it, I’m going to be a gurning fool, possibly in a white cottonwool beard, shouting ho ho ho, pressing champagne on people, and announcing and doling out the presents one by one with a lot of shouting. A sort of meld of my father and Brian Blessed.