Misteltoe and wine

I MUST have drunk most of the world’s wine-producing countries dry and eaten the equivalent of Willy Wonka’s annual sales over the last week.
Oh well, it’s Christmas time, tis the season to be jolly and all that. Unfortunately, I’m now feeling the after effects two days later and am not at all looking forward to doing it all again this Friday. Not that I have to but oh well, it’s Hogmanay.
I hope Santa brought all you were wishing for. I must have been doing something right because he gave me something I thought was impossible to find.
Yes, he’s not too old, he’s not too young, he lives in my postcode area, he’s single, has little or no baggage and I’ve known him for more than two minutes. Result.
I should never have let him go the first time, around this time of year, a few years back, but that was then and this is now. I’ll keep you posted.
The effects of my three-day binge did little to keep me from the crazy world of post-Christmas sales. That was until after our supposed hangover-curing feast for lunch, then I wished I hadn’t got out of bed.
To use the word ‘heaving’ to describe the crowd also spending would be a severe understatement.
And it’s the truth universally recognised that when you have money you can’t see anything you like. Vouchers meant for a Hogmanay outfit were in serious danger of burning a hole in my beautiful stocking-filler handbag.
So feeling very ill, flushing with practically every movement, and wishing we didn’t drain yet another glass at lunch, I was glad I didn’t have to go through the rigmarole of trying things on, as most of the dressing rooms were closed.
Allow me to be completely and unashamedly discriminatory for a few sentences. I know many of you have beautiful children, and I appreciate you feel it’s important to instil the importance of fashion at a young age, but please, please, please!
If shops are discriminating against people who may not be the perfect size ten and can’t pick something straight off the hanger without trying it on — why can’t they discriminate against buggies at one of their busiest times?
If it wasn’t screaming children (hello! Hangover!) it was mothers and other such chancers using their chariots to ram raid and then barricade themselves into the best sale rails, leaving us singletons of nil confinements waiting patiently for them to move in front of some other unsuspecting ‘cooer’.
I’m also looking for a sponsor to develop my idea of a city centre conveyer belt to let shoppers get from A to B without having to dodge and distress people going the other way. Thinking along the lines of those in airports, how great would it be if you could just get on and off where you need to and conserve much needed energy for the sale. I think it’s a winner.
It was so bad I wasn’t even feeling the love for huge price cuts in the shoe department — let that be a warning to everyone. And there were so many beautiful pairs in my size that were calling out for me but a) I hadn’t put on good shoe-trying-on-shoes and b) Sitting down and standing up too much was not ideal.
I battled on though, determined that I would not be going home empty handed. My quest was fulfilled when I was just about to give up. It was only five and a half hours later but the vouchers entitled me to pass go and collect a truly beautiful dress for all my post festive functions. Well at least one anyway.
I’ve been invited to an annual dinner dance at the end of January and expected to be partnerless for it. But I’ve been permitted to look that far ahead (maybe because he’s already seen me in the dress and it is truly beautiful, despite me looking like I was recovering from three days of Christmas spirit) so that’s a good sign.
Thinking about other occasions which will be coming up shortly, I can’t believe that I will have been writing this tripe for a year when St Valentine’s Day comes around once more. Well done all of those who have been able to keep up with it all. I’m getting there.
And thank you for all those who continue to give me inspiration, sometimes without knowing it (and then finding out later)!
I wonder if this time next year I’ll be sitting signing off wondering what this new year will bring, and hoping my Valentine’s Day will be spent with someone other than David Gray on CD.