It’s that time of year again
Too early to mention the C word and yet it’s everywhere. I even found myself wondering earlier last week why Harrods wasn’t fully decorated yet.
It’s time for me to come to terms with the fact that Xmas is no longer a twelve day affair. It hasn’t been for years but I’ve had a hard time accepting it.
Capitalism, consumerism, Christmaserism? I think it’s a six week shopping festival now. Nothing to to with baby Jesus or The Green Man. I can envision a time when the decorations start to go up immediately after August bank holiday.
While realigning myself with the realities of the Christmaserism season timings, I could also stop banging on about how Winter isn’t a three month season. It steals at least two weeks from Autumn and another two or three from Spring. Who was it who decided on four equally long seasons? Not a Brit is my guess.
Convenient, symmetrical, but a lie.
In other, wtf Xmas all effing ready, news. I have a new addiction. Addiction may be too strong a word but let’s go with it for now, Hallmark type Xmas movies.
I’ve always had a soft spot for A Christmas Carol. I own several versions. My favourite stars Jean-luc Picard, commanding officer of the Federation starship USS Enterprise. I don’t now how he got time off to put in a splendid turn as Scrooge, but well done him. Along with everyone, I also love It’s a Wonderful Life, Trading Places and Die Hard once we get past mid December.
Hallmarks’ offerings don’t really pander to this movie goers expectations in terms of performance, story or cinematography. The creative team, and I use that term loosely, consists of a handful of female stars, as many men, one woman who is always the best friend, a couple of handsome old actors to play mums dads or grandparents, one makeup artist/hairstylist, one bored set designer, one very tired screen writer and a wardrobe mistress with a vast collection of red dresses.
The titles, scripts, sets and cast are interchangeable. You know how it will end before it starts, a small dry single kiss. Big city, small town, high flier, home body. I watch these when I get home from work at ten, to wind down and send me to sleep.
If they were billed as a sleep aid rather than a movie, I’d have to say they’re excellent.
Sleep, now there’s a thing.
Cornflake and I have finally bought the new mattress I’ve been eying up for about a year. We have new pillows and a new duvet too. I thought the mattress decision was hard enough but it was the choice of pillows that really pickled my brain. Cornflake simply could not be arsed to join the hunt for the perfect pillow. He abdicated responsibility for the mattress also, happy to pay but not to lay down on twenty beds and make a considered choice. To him a mattress is a mattress, they all felt the same, so he retired after a couple of tries. I persevered, and as it turned out, I picked the perfect mattress. We’re both looking forward to another early night.
Goldilocks had it easy, just three choices.
Pillow wise I apparently chose the perfect pillow for my husband but need to keep on searching for the Goldilocks standard pillow for myself. I’m hoping to bump into the same random woman I spent time with in the John Lewis pillow department this week. We were equally confused, neither of us able to see the significant difference between a £15 pillow and a £190 pillow…apart from the price that is.
Likewise the difference between Hungarian duck down and Scottish duck down was £400. The blurb said that the Hungarian duck down duvet drapes beautifully. I fail to see why you’d want a drapey duvet. Please feel free to comment if you can see what I’m missing. Anyway the Glasgow based ducks won the day.
Whatever, our newly refurbished bed is the place to be, early to bed, late to rise.
It’s officially winter today, time to hibernate.
fat tart 