Like so many of you discerning people out there among the codes and cables, I love Christmas. Scuttling through December weekend afternoons clutching bags and wondering if it isn't too early to dive into somewhere warm and snug for a glass or three of mulled wine; such experiences or indeed thoughts are sheer heaven. So imagine my disgust and horror each year as the Christmas aisles are set up while the Hallowe'en stuff is still sprawled out and the Bonfire Night fireworks are only freshly unwrapped from their packaging.
This is the time of year for what I call the pre-Christmas boycott. I refuse to recognise Christmas is upon us until 1st December. I do not buy cards nor a single present until that date. The Christmas playlist isn't even lined up until the night of 30th November, but that's just preparation. But when the day itself arrives, that is when I go truly Christmas crackers. People are harangued for gift ideas, I make sure that I have correct addresses and then it's time to hit [insert shopping method as appropriate].
Until tonight. I had no idea they were there until I looked in the cupboard. Not a clue. Not one inkling and then something dreadful happened. So blithe was the action, so innocent in its execution and subsequent movements. And then it hit. After the chewing and the dusting down of hands had subsided, I realised what I had done. THE SEAL WAS BROKEN! The pre-Christmas boycott is now over. I have consumed...a mince pie!!! A whole one! A M&S one (not that it makes much difference, I still ate it).
What's the big deal, you ask? It's only a mince pie after all and if I had only started reading the paragraph above I would entirely agree with you. Had you been good enough to read the first two including the third, you still might be full of some doubts as to why this idiot is waxing morbid about a pastry filled with all sorts of delightful things. Not the point either, I'm afraid. Principles have been compromised; I don't do anything remotely Christmassy until December. Mince pies in November, ah well best get out the address book, calibrate the iPod and start planning gifts (already done, so the offence is somewhat compounded, but it is only planning, haven't gone shopping, that would be a sacrilege).
Thankfully I'm an Anglican and can look at it like this; it was a sheer moment of madness, I'm clearly only human and am given to such temptations. I was found wanting, but why be strong when to have weakness to force oneself to find strength? I feel a little better now; not that I'm going to run downstairs and have another (mine was the third out of the box anyway, still doesn't help, does it?)
In other news, isn't that business over Northern Rock ghastly?
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