Before I started writing more again, the latest blogpost on here was one about Christmas. Short and quite to the point. Despite its almost three year tenure as this blog’s top post, it failed to gain much traction. It might have been a marketing problem.
Anyway, it’s that time of the year again, so tomorrow will be Christmas Eve, where at roughly seven at night my family and I will be entering the living room, marvel at the tree, sing songs, read poems and stories, then embrace each other and wish each other “Merry Christmas” and then we’ll give each other presents and then put on some water for the traditional sausages, which we’ll soon crowd around the kitchen table to eat (the living room table will be covered in wrapping paper, presents, cookies), after which we’ll all just find us a place to sit somewhere and nurse the rest of the beer from the sausage dinner (some maybe a cup of tea) and start reading in one of the books we’ll have received, while my mother, who’s by now the only one who still does, will announce it’s time for her to go to church for the Christmas service, a second after which she’ll ask who would drive her there, because parking there is always a pain, and either my sister or I will give in (I think it’ll be me), so after I’ve dropped her off I’ll get back to reading in one of my new books (my mother will probably return by foot fifteen minutes later because according to her the church was just too full, but really I think she just found it to be too cold and wanted to go back to reading in one of her new books), and in between I’ll get up over to the big basket filled with cookies and pick out my favourites until I’m full, tired and ready for bed, which is in one of the two rooms that evolved out of the cowshed my parents converted when they moved in, so they’d have space to host their children, not just, but especially for events like these, and since it’s not connected to any central heating, I’ll put another log or two in the iron stove heating the room, and then get under the covers, making sure no feet are peeking out because this room has the tendency to release any and all warmth as soon as the last log has been turned to ash, which will probably happen roughly an hour after I’ve fallen asleep, happy and content, even though my face isn’t covered by the blanket, meaning I’ll wake up with an icy nose.
I had planned on writing a longish post about the various meanings of Christmas, from people actually believing that there was someone born a couple of thousand years ago to a carpenter whose wife insisted that “no, it wasn’t anyone from your company’s Christmas party who knocked me up, ’twas this mythical creature that sent an angel did the job” to those thinking that Christmas is mainly something to enjoy what the entertainment and dumbing-down industries put on their platters, no matter how awfully insipid it might be, to finally those who just enjoy the free days that allow them to spend time with their dear ones.
I decided against it, simply because I can’t find the time between going to church every two hours, listening to “The Best of Wham” (a wonderful record consisting of just this one song) and playing “do you need to pee or not” which my little Swedish nephew.
So instead I’ll just leave you with a hearty Merry Christmas and all that stuff.
And here’s to Christmas. At least when it comes to the header of this very blog, where I’ve once again put to use my insane Gimp skills to create what you might call a very superior Christmas header image.
Apart from changes to the design, bloggers like me also receive early Christmas presents. One of them was a package in the shape of tube, containing three cans of a drink. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
A few weeks back, I, like a few other people, was addressed by a representative of a PR-company in Switzerland, offering me a drink with the luring name “Walrossalkohol”. Which, and even if your German is rudimentary you might have guessed that, can be translated into the English language as “Walrus alcohol”. Anyway, me being both extremely adventurous (especially if adventure is sent directly into my flat) and quite partial to the various ways of imbibing alcohol, decided to graciously accept the offer. Oh, how I was looking forward to this strange new drink, imagining nights of debauchery similar to what the poets of the 19th century experienced with the aid of la Fée Verte.
Well, a couple of weeks later I received a mysterious tube:
Anxiously I ripped open the wondrous package, only to find what inside? Utter disappointment! For all it contained were three cans of a drink similar to what you might know as Red Bull, void of anything even slightly resembling hard, hallucinations-inducing alcohol. Burying my dreams of a poetic shindig, I opened a can, took a sip and lo and behold, it contained a drink very similar in taste and effect to above mentioned Red Bull.
This marks the end of my recount. Goes to show that early Christmas presents aren’t always as wonderful as you might expect them to be. But thanks anyway.