Home for Christmas

Make yourselves comfy in the bipolar chair.

Make yourselves comfy in the bipolar chair.

Warning! This blog is rated PG. Your Parent(s) may need Guidance. Bad language, ranting, & potentially offensive mug shot. Of a mug.

Christmas’s Terrible Twin is New Year’s Eve and Day. I like the Eve bit (Jools Holland’s “Hootananny!” Bagpipes! Cups ‘o kindness!). As for New Year’s Day, bah. And also humbug. As a child, I had to sit through too many Rose Bowl parades, and American football games, on the telly.

Let’s face it, one Rose Bowl parade is one too many. Roses, on floats?

No.

I am home for Christmas … well, part of it. The most important part, which, as anyone who has read this blog will know, happens at 18:15 on BBC1 on Christmas Day.

The bipolar chair isn’t mine, by the way. It belongs to Time to Change Leeds, a lovely bunch of folks who are doing great work fighting ignorance, stigma, and the like around mental health problems.

The offensive mug is mine. It was a gift from an old friend, and is an excellent summary of what I’m like when I’m flying high with mania:

Aka "Sheila Queen of the World"

Aka “Sheila Queen of the World”

Space Hamsters card is courtesy another friend. I have interesting friends.

I’ve thought about giving up feckin’ swearing for the New Year, but, bollocks to that. I can swear, and keep functioning (1). Or I can stop swearing, and lose my CRB check. Or just lose it, full stop.

By “home for Christmas”, I mean my home in dear old Donny Town, England, UK. I am not, as previously stated, originally from these parts. However, like it or lump it, Britain (2), I’m here to stay. Polluting your fine Anglo-Saxon GreenandPleasantland with my innate and inimitable foreignness.

And, of course, a cup o’ crazy, too.

The sun is going down on Christmas Eve, and the house is only partly decorated. I have finally got the holly and ivy up, but no tree. This is partly because:

(1) I am not very organised.

(2) I work long shifts, and

(3) I cannot find the tree (see 1) above).

Which is fine. The term “eccentric” was recently bandied about in my presence (3). I always thought “eccentric” was code for “crazy people with money and/or influence”. No more: these days, us plebs can be eccentric, too.

I am largely resigned to this. I hope it doesn’t stamp me as claiming Special Snowflake Status, seasonal though that sounds. It is only by reconciling myself to my own brand of middle-aged crazy (4) that I can keep on, keeping on.

At home.

I once spent a bit of Christmas at home, but a lot more of it, plus a good slug of the new year, on a ward. The staff did their best. One of the best parts of that particular holiday season was when one nurse took pity on me, and drugged me to the twitching eyeballs.

Ah, memories …

There is no freedom like the ability to just go about your business, and not worry about when your “leave” runs out. So, whilst I have some of the maudlin feelings typical of people my age at this time of year, it could be so much worse.

The tree has just appeared. Enjoy your seasonal festivities, folks. And your freedom. I certainly plan to enjoy mine.

Take it away, Noddy, old son:

“Look to the future now
It’s only just begun … “

If you think this is my tree, I know a bridge you may be interested in ...

If you think this is my tree, I know a bridge you may be interested in …

(1) After a fashion.

(2)Yes, Nigel & co., I’m talking to you.

(3) Not aimed at me.

(4) Not the “I’m buying a red Corvette, dumping my husband, and getting a toy boy” variety.

 

 

 

 

Comments are closed.