No walk for me today, well not with the ministry, Mrs T had goings on in Birmingham which would culminate in a few drinks, a drunken train ride home and weeing round the back of the train station next to the bins, not really, she’s classier than that and will probably  thump me for even suggesting so, we’re not savages you know.  As December is upon us, the tasks are starting to mount up; presents to buy, a bloody tree to buy and put up and decorate. I’m 48 and miserable or so my family keep telling me, shouts of Ebeneezer from my daughter’s bedroom as I complain the magic’s gone, its too early, etc but the longer we leave it, the fewer the tree choices are, and when demand exceeds supply the price rises, that is basic Peter Donaldson economics, I think.

My sister, who lives 70 miles away is going out with a Christmas tree farmer, we should see if we can get a freebee!  One thing I’ve noticed when I couple Fandango and Sheryl (your daily word prompt) is that I have to check my dictionary fairly often to decipher the meaning of some of Sheryl’s words, I feel like a member of the Wordy Elite, the Words Templar. But just to clear up a doubt I did know what decipher meant today, so my Dictionary remains, this evening, rusty dusty on its shelf.

So the tasks amount; a photo book for my folks, I need to take my Mum’s iPad to the shop to ask them to tell me its fucked, she’ll be gutted, she barely used it, and when she did, I imagine she used it in a chaotic way, being swept along by a tsunami of technological ignorance, thousands of pages open at the same time, pressing the screen ultra hard and ultra slowly to sign in. Mrs T is having issues with the person who we’ve booked the Christmas break with; a couple of barns with a swimming pool, would you believe it, and catering for 17 folk, but the owner has a 30% score for being in contact, dreadful and stressful at the same time. The kids presents, a work Christmas party which I’ve got to pay for myself, again, would you believe it? We’re off to Shrewsbury and a train to there from here 32 miles by road, tales 2 hours, would you believe it, and 2 changes, would you believe it? I’ve a good mind to call in sick and miss it, bit then my Scrooginess would spread beyond the bloodline into the relative strangers of my job, we see each other rarely, myself even fewer than everyone else, being stuck out at the arse end of nowhere, detached from the group. I’ve made my bed I guess and if I don’t think about shifting my arse then i’ll be doing this forever and ever, I wonder what my pithy epitaph will be.