Christmas and the walking dead

Christmas Eve and I am sitting in the office flicking through editorial pictures as there does not seem to be much else to do. Band Aid has just started ringing out from the small radio behind me tuned into Real radio. Gary is flying his remote control helicopter around the office, Linda is watching Will Ferrell's Elf on the email monitor, Paul is shouting about something and Anna is quietly reading whilst waiting on Barry sending through more pages in their journey to the printers. Everyone just seems to be looking forward to the moment we all leave for the day, some for the weekend.
It was a foggy start this morning. A grey layer of cloud hanging low over the fields and trees at the rear of Calderwood, shrouding the back entrance to Calderglen Park. It may well be a very grey Christmas if not a white one. All presents are wrapped though and preparations made for the few days ahead. A time of sharing and giving, putting up with relatives you wouldn't normally have to see during the week, another Two Ronnies repeat, eating giant amounts of turkey and the kids of the family jumping around like lunatics and making insane amounts of noise. Gargantuan turkeys. I remember my Mum used to make massive turkeys for Christmas dinner. Birds that could barely fit in the oven, and that was after the loss of a head and feet. I used to wonder on which far off Lost World they produced such turkeys. The amount of stuff the kids get now is crazy. Ka has one niece and we've, partly inadvertantly, got her a whole bag of stuff! We were all spoiled as kids but the kids these days just seem to get so much more. It kind of stretches the credibility of there being a real Santa to the absolute limits. Do kids still actually believe Santa brings everything to their house by magic sleigh? What Ka's niece got last year would have filled two sleighs and he would have needed more than eight reindeer to pull that lot. Santa on an articulated lorry does not quite have the same Christmassy romanticism about it, no matter how much the Coca Cola adverts try. I remember going through a phase of trying to stay awake and catch Santa at it, at the bottom of my bed. When I say at it, I mean filling my sock with toys of course. My head propped up by my pillow, a torch at my side waiting for the bedroom door to open so I could quickly blast his face full of light when he crept into the room. Of course, it would never work. You'd always be asleep by about half four in the morning. Then, when you woke up at six, he would have been and gone and the house would spring into action. Or some of the house sprung anyway. I would always wonder why my parents were like the walking dead the next day, watching us open our presents with their eyes slowing closing, heads lolling and then snapping them open again and forcefully sitting themselves up straight. Collapsing later in the day immediately after consuming the dinner which my Mum had just managed to stay awake over the hobs to produce. We'd usually be left playing with our new pressies as the old yins slept infront of the telly. One Christmas you could barely hear the telly due to my then Uncle's snoring. He was asleep on the dining table at the back of the living room, hoovering up the tail ends of the back curtains with his nose, a yellow paper hat tilted over his eyes. That was before he'd even had any kids of his own. He had no excuse except from that massive turkey breast perhaps. I'd always wonder why the parents would last till five or six in the morning at the traditional Reid's Boxing Night party but barely last till five in the evening on Christmas Day.
It will be good to see the family over Chrimbo though, do some catching up. Dinner at the in laws tomorrow and then on to Ka's sister's place. Unfortunately I'll be driving but maybe that's a good thing as on Boxing Day I'll be back in the office for a while. After work I'll then be heading off to the Reid Boxing Night party. Where there will be quizzes, drinking and more eating. Better get back in that gym on Saturday.