Let the Christmas tunes roll in, let's go shopping for presents, get wrapped up in scarfs and gloves, sip hot chocolate in 'red cups', decorate the apartment, calls from grandparents, writing out Christmas cards.
I must admit that until recently, I think I... (I warn you, this is a bit harsh...) I hated Christmas.
I hated Christmas music, shopping for stupid presents, I missed warm sunshine, I wanted hot beverages in a normal cup, I liked our tidy apartment, I could talk to my grandparents any time, I dreaded the wrist cramp from writing out pointless cards.
I wasn't always brought up to hate Christmas, my parents and family went to a lot of trouble to make sure our Christmases were pretty damn good. I think when I 'grew up' and I knew it wasn't a celebration of really anything, that I began to lose interest. I wasn't brought up to disbelieve in God, but rather to believe in my own version of God. So I never went to church, I wasn't baptised, or christened (unlike both of my parents). So Christmas wasn't a religious event.
The biggest family Christmas I can remember was when we all lived in Gill Gill Cottage in Nenthead. I can remember all four of us kids tearing down stairs, after our parents had only gone to bed an hour or so before preparing all of our presents. I can remember all eating together. I can remember all of our toys. The huge fire (at least it seemed huge at the time). The tinsel. Eating sweets and watching Christmas shows on the teevee.
Boyfriend is fanatical about Christmas time. I like to think he has brought it out in me. Put on some Bing Crosby, switch the fairy lights on, rustle the wrapping paper and he's like a ... well, a kid at Christmas.
I'm sure the saying goes, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
(p.s. It's only 44 sleeps until Christmas! http://www.xmasclock.com/)