Christmas with guests

I’ve been talking with a lot of people about Christmas over the last few weeks. Feels like it’s been a long time coming. I’m not feeling particularly blogtastic though. I’m sitting on the sofa with a glass of bandol. A few friends are chilling next to me, it’s warm here for the first time in months thanks to commandeered panel heaters from Carol, turkey cooking, and bodyheat. I’m writing now because I think it’s likely I’ll not be capable of connecting my brain to my thumb in a few hours time. So now seems like the right window. One of us has her scarf over her head and probably won’t wake up for an hour or so. I posited the idea of watching a movie. But it was nixed. So we’re listening to The Cure.

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The idea of a guest paragraph has come up because I’m already half cut and not feeling 500 words worth. And also it feels like a good Christmas game so in order that I receive them, here are some Christmas thoughts from people at my flat and friends of the heart. Be warned, they’re unedited as I’m already too sloshed for discernment.

1: “The reenactment of Christmas time is both melancholic and sentimental. Exactly 365 days ago I was floating in the sea staring back at the Goa shoreline – imagining the world beyond the horizon behind me.

As Oscar Wilde said, “A sentimentalist is simply a man who desires the luxury of an emotion without paying for it.”

This year I feel somewhat indebted to sentiment. I find myself amongst a cosy group in Al’s flat where neither sentimentality nor emotion costs anything. With this I am confronted immediately and somewhat inconveniently with the true notion of Christmas. In the end, it doesn’t really materrrrrr.”

2: “Christmas is about bees, innit. Not like normal bees. I guess it’s more about beekeeping, the more I think about it. You know – with the hat – beekeeping. And sometimes when you need to keep bees calm, you need smoke. You know like a turkey. Always forwards. And bee suits. They probably have a name other than bee suits. Like a Christmas jumper could also just be(e) a jumper. You get worker bees, Queen bees, soldier bees, but less and less jumper bees. What’s that about? And let’s be honest, nobody likes a fucking bee. Done. Sorted.

3: I’m a kiwi who normally Christmases in the sun with a mother who hates Christmas traditions, who also performs as Father Christmas’s Elf Helper. I’m not really sure what Christmas is supposed to be, but chilling out with food and friends in Al’s living room feels like a sweet way to pass the time.”

4- So this new carol of yours is just eight verses of you demanding figgy pudding with increasing hostility.”

“Yep. Absolutely”

“And it’s called We Wish You A Merry Christmas?”

“Yes”

“Buts it not really about Christmas is it? It’s mostly about figgy—“

“—figgy pudding yeah. Also I noticed you have a cat. If a pet owner dies in their house, a dog will wait several days to eat the corpse – A cat will only wait two days. Merry Christmas. Now give me some Figgy Pudding or you’re cat chowder”

 

This is the Al’s blog equivalent of those clip shows like “Interdimensional Cable” on Rick and Morty. I had a few more contributions but I’ll have to find a way to scale them in. But here we go. Christmas.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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