Left to my own devices on Christmas, having been forced out of bed inappropriately early by an incredibly eager and early rising sister, I surprisingly managed to have a rather enjoyable if unconventional day watching science fiction and listening to children’s books whilst cleaning and cooking and being several kinds of domestic goddessness. Yes, you read correctly, I cleaned. To further slap the face of conventionality I laundered. One wonders how I managed to achieve so much and what demons prompted me from my bed in a manner that could best be described as premature being, as it was, on entirely the wrong side of midday for a cool and cloudy day and I must own that it was the hideous beastie of the terrorphone and my button pushing sister. Text messages are, of course, the devil’s tool and this being so, and it is, they have become the primary means of communication within my small sweet psychotic family. Sure, I could have turned the phone off this morning rather than face my sister’s textual shouting but that would have been rude. She would have known and would have gotten angry with me when next she managed to text. Also, at some stage I knew I had to face them to find out where the cleverly hidden Christmas presents were, um, cleverly hidden in my flat. It doesn’t matter that I’d already figured this out. Playing the game is, as we all know, far more important than actually achieving anything (except in Scrabble wherein one is in to win).
Having phoned and fossicked and found and generally done I settled, with surprise at my almost alarmingly good haul (the capacity for my beloved family to get me wrong remains quite huge and disappointing for us all), upon the couch. [Oh my beloved couch. I do remember the days before I had you and had to make do with uncomfortable cozes on the floor supported only by anorexic cushions and the spare quilt – spare, threadbare, and second of two in my affections. Oh those early days, so like camping out, so truly hideous and bug ridden. Not that the bugs haven’t staged a come back, they’ve recouped and are waiting until I sleep before they nibble my fingers off and take over the flat. I must get in supplies of spray and killer chemical cocktails. They shall not overcome.] These days my days are simply fascinating, worth writing up and sharing with the world at large and so I do and do and do and do not but spend quite a lot of time writing the little into a lot. Takes talent that, or something less charming and far less savoury, we shall not mention it again. Upon the couch I did stay and behaved as the captain of her. To this effect I have created a little hat that I wear whilst riding the couch to nowhere. I shall name it thinking cap though I do less thinking than snoring and less of that than lying in stupor.