Well, Jingle my Bells

Yesterday morning I had what I call a case of the Christmas Day Blues. I really wanted to be home, celebrating with family and friends-mostly friends, because whenever my family got together, it ended up a free for all. I truly don't miss my family at all (as the saying goes, you can pick your friends, but you are stuck with your family).

Plus, it seems like the death rate goes up at Christmas. Accidents, illness, age-these things can't be helped. It isn't as if you can say "pardon me, I want to wait until the 3rd of January to pop my clogs". But people wait until Christmas to off themselves. How very inconsiderate of them. How bloody rude, in fact. Someone has to clean up the mess at Christmas (so glad it isn't me).

My friend's mother died last week. Another friend's brother in law died last week. People are dropping like flies. The unemployment rate (according to the a**holes in this government) have dropped dramatically. That is because the death rate has risen. And all this at Christmas...

But there was some happy news yesterday. Britain has its first astronaut in space-he's called Tim something or other-Peakes, I think. I just call him Twin Peaks. It's easier to remember (and if you don't get the reference, there is always everyone's best friend: Google). So Twin Peaks decided to call home-from the space station-to wish his family a Happy Christmas. And he called the wrong number. The people were shocked when they discovered that it wasn't a hoax call.

Imagine: this prat (there goes another pound in the shoebox) is trusted with millions of pounds of spaceship and hardware, plus his crew-and he can't even make a phone call. Duh. What a schmuck (and there goes yet another pound). Did I mention that Twin Peaks is in space? He's spaced, all right.

So I went along to the church to help out with their Christmas lunch (for eighty people who had nowhere else to go). I helped wash vegetables, and I put crosses in the sprouts (I was on sprout patrol). It was all well planned, since this church does this every year. Most of the people were very nice-all except one grumpy old woman called Nell. She was offended by the fact that I was casually dressed. Oh, excuse me: I'm working in a church kitchen on Christmas Day. What was I supposed to do-wear a tiara? It transpired that Nell spent most of her life waitressing, so she (naturally) knew everything about kitchen work. At one point, she (deciding that she was my boss) told me not to take any plates out because lack of balance meant that I would possibly drop a full plate of food in someone's lap. So she put four plates up her arm-of course, Nell was the expert, wasn't she?- and set off on her way. The rest of us were busy laughing-because there was an almighty crash, and three full plates of food ended up on the kitchen floor. I was doubled over-nobody else could stop shaking with laughter, either. And Nell was told by the real boss-John-to clean up her mess. I was conscripted to leave the sprout patrol and go serve. I have to say that I did it perfectly-no food anywhere except where it belonged: on the plate. Poor old Nell was most unhappy. Like I gave a shit (yes, I know: a pound in the swear box).

After everyone was finished, and we'd cleaned up, I came back, made a strong cup of coffee, and my very good friend from Pennsylvania called me. It was great: a long chat was just what I needed. I really felt like I had done something worthwhile. I was able to chat quickly to some of the guests-and there were people who told me that their children didn't want them, and that I was the first person (apart from the carer who drove them) to talk to them in weeks. For some, it was months. I couldn't help but hope I never end up like that.

How many other older/disabled/homeless/disadvantaged people are out there, with nowhere to go at Christmas, when it should (you would think) be time for families and friends to be together? I didn't have Christmas (or any holiday) in 2010. My life seems to be divided into BG (before Gentamicin) and AG (after Gentamicin). This was the first year I was able to get out and help someone else. I couldn't help but remember all the years when nobody tried to help me-I'm determined to help others avoid that fate. It's really not very pleasant.

So today is Boxing Day, when stores are open and people are killing each other over items they would never otherwise buy-except that stuff is on sale. Just what everyone needs: more stuff. I'm avoiding going anywhere I see a "sale" sign. For some reason, I am just not in shopping mode. I am, however, in eating mode. I might even decide to be in "glass of wine" mode. After all, I made it through another year, and believe me when I say it hasn't been easy. But I'm still here. Still swearing like a sailor.

My swear box is nearly full-and it isn't even the end of the year yet. Amazing. I will, in 2016, learn to swear in French. It sounds terribly romantic - and I will save myself a bloody fortune. I wonder if Twin Peaks swore when he realized that the entire country knows he is a total pillock..