I had a big cry-baby snot fest the other night. First time in ages. Other than, perhaps, the sporadic slightly fizzy nose that occurs when happening upon ‘suggested for you’ Facebook videos of cute ‘n’ cuddly animals loving each other despite their differing species’.
It’s hard work spitting all those tears out. But even though your eyes feel sore and your nose looks like you’re six months too early for Comic Relief, it’s actually quite relieving. So I’m going to finish the job by blogging. Let’s see if we can get the rest of this stubborn nonsense out via a qwerty keypad…
This is not a reflective post. This is not a ‘today I learnt x…’ post. This is a ‘perhaps with each word I type I will make myself feel a teensy bit better’ post. It’s an attempt at self care, I guess.
So here goes.
Illustration by Alfie Joey of BBC Newcastle/The Mimic Men (@alfiejoey #AlfArt )
Every single year I try desperately to conjure up the epitome of Christmas. But it’s 2016. Santa doesn’t exist and the old fashioned paper chains and snow globes I keep stockpiling don’t actually have the power to transport me back to a Victorian knees-up with the Fezziwigs.
I have a yearning for the Christmas magic I felt when I was five years old. Which makes it kind of strange that I use my obsession with Victoriana Christmas decorations to re-discover it. That ‘magical time’ I keep thinking back to was actually in 1983. We had a silver artificial tree, spray on snow and a jungle of multi-coloured foil decorations hanging from the ceiling.
I’m not sure the Fezziwigs would approve. And I’m not sure why I associate these two drastically different eras at Christmas time.