Rather that spread the celebration of Christmas with friends and co-workers throughout a number of weeks, this year we have compressed it all into one never-ending weekend of insanity.
On Thursday night we took part in the local pub quiz with friends. On Friday night we travelled into London and celebrated Christmas with my co-workers at a bowling venue in the heart of the city. On Saturday night we travelled across London to celebrate with my other half’s co-workers at a pub on the other side of the city, and this evening we have been invited to visit friends and neighbours to share a glass of wine with each other.
When I was twenty I would probably have rebounded from one evening to the next with joyful abandon. Reporting this at the three quarter point of the marathon weekend journey, my body, mind, and spirit seem to be rebelling somewhat.
Parts of me just ache today. It’s a similar ache to when I ran 100km for charity, except I’m not ending up any fitter or leaner as a result.
I really do need to start running again - no matter if the weather is diabolical outside (and it really is at the moment).
I’m trying not to think about the mountains of washing - some washed, some unwashed - stacked around the house, or the piles of un-washed dishes and rubbish we arrived home to late last night. After spending much of Friday in-between work making sure we left the house in a relatively intact state, it was something of a shock to return last night and discover just how much further work our children could visit upon us.
I just questioned one of our daughters - enquired rather - if she might pick her clean washing up from the living room. I would lift it back off the sofa (where it has been thrown, after I already neatly folded it last week onto the dining table), but the dining table somehow became covered with craft-projects during our absence over the weekend.
The conversation - while folding my own clothes up to put away - went something like this:
“It’s not all mine”.
“But a large part of it is yours.”
“But it’s not all mine.”
“I asked if you could take yours.”
“But I’m having a bath.”
“After your bath.”
“ALRIGHT! I’ll do it LATER!”
(later = not happening)
Why? Why do younger people seem to think the world revolves around them? That they should never help with anything for anybody else unless absolutely forced to? What happened to even the littlest amount of selflessness? What happened to any pride in how the house might look?
My other half mentioned on the way home last night that our daughters had been helping more recently - that they had been washing clothes (that was me), hoovering around the house (me too), and washing up (again, me). I kept my mouth shut.
I don’t think any of them realise quite how much I actually do from day to day. I just sit in front of this computer, obviously. The bank account re-fills itself by some other magical force. The washing up flies from the sink, through the dishwasher and into the cupboards by some Mary Poppins feat of conjuring. The clothes miraculously make their way through the washing machine, onto the drying racks, and get folded as if charmed by a sorcerer’s apprentice spell.
We won’t even start about cutting the grass, emptying the bins, or cleaning the shower and toilets.
ANYWAY.
The weekend has been fun, no matter the aftermath. I’ve survived thirty six hours in London pretty much unscathed - all the more miraculous following a trip to both the British Museum and Covent Garden on Saturday - which was a spectacular mistake this close to Christmas.
Who in their right mind tries to go anywhere near central London two and a half weeks before Christmas “for fun”? We thought we might have a look around the stalls and shops in Covent Garden, but couldn’t actually get into any of them without joining length queues. We thought we might get a cup of tea at one of the numerous bars or cafes - they were all full too. Even visiting a rest-room entailed a half-hour wait in-line.
Re-telling our experiences at the second party on Saturday night brought chortles of laughter as I admitted that I hadn’t realised just how much I didn’t like “people in general” until earlier that afternoon.
Thankfully the parties repaid much of the weariness. It’s interesting, isn’t it - how the all-too-often endless struggle to reach a gathering is so often balanced by the hours spent with others.
I need to try and remember that, when talking myself out of meeting up with friends. I’ve become a little too comfortable in my own company since the pandemic - since I started working from home. Stepping outside the front door has become a bigger and bigger hurdle - and yet when I do, I remember who I used to be - how the world once was - if only for a little while.