As I’ve got older, Christmas has got less. The single life, or my single life anyway, doesn’t garner a sense of impending excitement; the tree was always so special, and I gave up that idea when the demons arrived in our lives. I never cared about the other decorations, but the tree, the tree I went to town on. It was always the biggest blue spruce we could fit in, often spending well over £100 on a good one. White fur was the only thing allowed near it – that and clear glass; I had ridiculously expensive white faux fur ‘tinsel’, little fur balls, crystal clear glass balls, and right on top, a white furry pentagram. Ridiculous as it sounds now, people would pop in just to see my tree (even more ridiculous – this is the only photo I could find – although this was well over seven years ago now). However, all that has gone, including the wonderful, adorable and so special Quigley (RIP you beautiful boy xxx).
So, this year Christmas is coming again – like an unstoppable train through my tunnel of darkness. I keep reminding myself that it’s only a few days, only a few days, only a few days. I can do this. What can I leave out, what can I ‘forget’? I’ll smile, laugh, cook dinner, and pull crackers, then I’ll come home and hug the dogs so tightly, sit in my bubble with a coffee and my contented demons at my feet and thank the gods it’s over, and everyone enjoyed it!