Dec 24 2003
Christmas eve
This is the first Christmas in approximately a decade that we have had more than the bog standard number of guests coming to visit. When I was younger it was always us visiting other family members, and as we gradually phased out our relationships with those motherfuckers, we eventually ended up with just those immediate to us - the foursome. Then that fucker of a father of mine, the ultimate swine upped and left, and it retreated down to the threesome. Strangely, this year, we’ve a record number of nine visiting for dindins. This meant resurrecting the huge dining table that we used to eat from (as opposed to eating microwave meals in separate rooms nowadays). I’m not sure if I’m looking forward to this huge amount of people in my presence as I tend to shrink and hide when people are around, and on occasions have ended up taking cover in the bottom of my wardrobe. My brother will be present and after his recent bout of philosophical bullshit, spouting off about my sexuality problems (because really, I’m just so uncomfortable with being gay), I’m unsure as to whether I can be bothered to waste my time with him. Siblings. Bastards.
As is tradition in many British homes, I opened a small present tonight, a day early. A red present arrived through the post a couple of days ago that I thought was from Catherine, but was unsure of (judging merely by the handwriting). It turned out to be the most beautiful journal I have ever seen, just as I was looking for a new one. The cover is made of slate (?), hand-decorated with metallic leaves and a pentagram. I love journals more than anything.
