Christmas is a double edged sword for me, these days. The best of times and the hardest of times ...
I frequently refer to myself as Santa on crack at Christmas time. I have my Grandad to thank for that, I reckon. Every year, without fail, his and my Nan's bungalow would become a grotto overnight. Fake snow, every flashing light you could imagine, about three Christmas trees. You name it, he had it. He always went full out.
And so, even though it's the same time of year that we lost him, my Christmas tree is always the first to go up. I will always be the egit voluntarily wearing reindeer antlers will jingle bells on. And I will always grin myself to face ache while wrapping my Christmas presents to Mr Buble's festive crooning.
Why? Well, why the hell not?
Merry bloody Christmas, you lovely bunch.
Laugh, love, hold 'em close.