I'm not big in to christmas.
I'm not really sure why; it started to happen when I was in my teens. I used to love singing carols in the cathedral, and very much liked the frankinsencey whiff of tradition around the festivities.
But... I don't know. Maybe it was just growing up, and growing out of the avaricious fervour of a kid waiting for santa.
This christmas is particularly odd. Last year I was in the death-throws of a relationship - it actually ended on the day after boxing day, and only got through christmas by drinking myself stupid. The memories are still raw, and combined with my now-regular burst of midwinter depression have proved to be a difficult storm to weather.
The nice thing, of course, is my new relationship; too soon, not what I expected, but nonetheless good. We've got work to do, yes: I need to stop being so reserved, uptight, offhand and cautious, he needs to wash his own socks occasionally; you know, the ususal domestic stuff. But it's... good. Working. Solid. Nice. Not the most exciting set of words to use about it, but to be honest, they're words I set great stock by, and think are much underrated.
So, this christmas will be a change; a new start, a going forward. And for once, it's almost worth celebrating.
Aaaaany-way. This long digression is a preamble to pointing to a small christmas celebration put together by the redoubtable Ms. Harpold, to which I've contributed a memory of a christmas past.