I think I don't believe in Father Christmas, any more.
There are, at this moment, only 2 full days left. And, that is because I am writing in the evening, at the end of the day, when essentially there is not much left of the 3rd day before Christmas.
A day that started off searingly hot, rather like a griddle pan, only I was not about to sit around like a steak waiting to be cooked. After a morning of working, I decided that my hair needed trimming - or I might fast end up resembling Einstein, and I might as well paint my toenails pink. They have been orange for over 6 months now. Time for a change of colour, or I shall be deemed boring or too predictable. Mind you, the orange colour did stick out, like a sore toe.
And, just when I thought things were going tickety-boo as posh people say. I dropped my Blackberry Priv in the carpark. It slipped out of my hand as if it was covered in butter. I don't remember butter at the hairdresser, but maybe I missed something ...
Smack.
And a pretty mosaic of lines across the top of the screen. Naturally, I chastised myself with more than a colourful array of expletives. I chastised myself even more, when I was told by some two-bit repair centre that it would take about 10 days to get the part.
Now, I have to debate whether I go to the official BlackBerry service centre, which you cannot call, or whether I chance it with a dodgy repair shop.
This is why I Bah Humbug Christmas. We are enticed to spend money on frippery, and when we need to get something repaired, it takes five times longer than it should, and is no doubt charged at a premium because it is the holiday season.
I am not sure I believe in Father Christmas any more. Father Misery, alright.
I suppose I shall have to simply listen to Greg Lake and try and believe in Father Christmas. At least he made his protest against the commercialisation of Christmas into a song ...
And I still don't have an oven that works. Wonder if the turkey will freeze until next year?
Bah flipping Humbug.
No comments:
Post a Comment