Greenwich Mean Time

I’m beginning to think all time is mean time.  Whatever happened to me-time?  Life’s a tricky business, isn’t it?

‘Ooh, it’s been a rollercoaster’, that’s what they say on telly.   Sounds about right; we’re strapped in – usually against our will – then hurtled manically about, unable to get off no matter how much we scream.  If we get to the end without crying or wetting our pants in public, it’s deemed a great success.  And let’s face it, if you’ve had children, you don’t escape those indignities anyway.  Crumbs.  What a ride, eh?

So here I am; my last blog post was about new year resolutions and now the Christmas lights are lit in town.  On that note, permit me a teeny rant: what has happened to ‘proper’ Christmas?  You know what I mean: chestnuts roasting, the Salvation Army banging out some carols and Santa arriving by sleigh?

‘THANK YOU IPSWICH’, yelled the singer onstage in Ipswich last night, punching the air as a few mums watched on with their wailing children, waiting for the Crimbo tree switch-on.  The square, in the meantime, was ablaze with colour as toddlers waved their fluorescent plastic purchases.  To be fair, nothing screams festive more to me than a strobing neon sword.

Grumpy old woman?  Moi?  Nah.  But I do think I might have a new career planning proper Christmas markets.  I’ll add that to next year’s to-do list, along with all the things I didn’t do on the last list.  Anyway, there are still 39 days, 11 hours and 24 minutes left of this decade.  Plenty of time.  No one wants to peak too soon, right?

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