Phew, it’s (nearly) over…

Well thank God that’s all over. Please don’t get me wrong, I do actually like Christmas… I like getting pissed with family, eating more cheese than is socially acceptable and I even get that warm glow inside when giving someone a present. However, like most things Christmas brings with it horrendously tedious social conventions:

Firstly, the awkward Christmas parties. This is some sort of odd excuse for adults to get together and discuss their children whilst eating honey and mustard coated mini sausages. I’m normally lured there by the promise of mulled wine and my oldest friend, Sarah, to play a fun game of ‘who can hate their family the most’. Conversations at these gatherings normally go as such:

Parents Sanctimonious Friend: Hello Clare, how’s Cardiff going?

Me: Really great thanks! I love it, never want to leave!

PSF: It’s your last year right? So what are the plans for the big real world?

Me: Ummm I think I’m just going to like, take some time out maybe, go build some walls in Peru or like clean elephants in Sri Lanka. *nervously stuffs mini vol au vents in mouth*

PSF: Oh… well that all sounds all very interesting. My Alexander has got a paid internship in London after he graduates from Oxford. He’s also training to run a marathon. He also has a girlfriend who is gorgeous and probably really good in bed. He makes me proud to be alive and a mother…. Anyways see ya!

Me: *choke on nibble and promptly die unsuccessful and disappointment to parents*

Also, the fateful events of the Christmas Eve party of 2007 are nearly always brought up when Sarah and I decided to try a little bit of every liquor in her parents well stocked cabinet. We, to this day, count it as a true Christmas miracle that neither of us ended up having our stomachs pumped… instead we simply rolled around in our own vomit.

Then there are the Christmas cards.  Being the fun, sociable family we are, we just love getting Christmas cards, especially those with Christmas letters letting us know how everyone is doing. I am (of course) joking. Firstly my Dad hates people: On his death he has requested a bench for the village with a plaque saying ‘No bloody new comers’ (a.k.a any one who hasn’t lived in the village for two generations). Secondly, I don’t really care about your family achievements. We tried to write one once but thought it would be a bit “everything’s the same, but we are all a bit fatter”.

And of course, Christmas isn’t Christmas without a blazing row over “Who ate the Christmas biscuits BEFORE Christmas day?” or “Who drank all the sloe gin?” There is in fact a special place in hell for the family member who drank all that homemade gin. I also know for a fact that ‘Articulate’ brings out the worst in people. I tend to get over competitive resulting in my mother saying ‘I don’t even want to win, I just want Clare to lose’. Charming. Once I got so angry at my sister over a family board game I actually bit her and then cried hysterically at the bottom of our drive for half an hour until I got really cold. This was embarrassingly recent. However, I will miss the really sweet uploads of people from my secondary schools babies dressed as elves. Awwww!

But Christmas is over and now we are all consumed with an insatiable desire to have OMG THE BEST NEW YEARS EVER. Ergh. New Years. Ergh. I loathe it. I literally hate New Years with every fibre of my being and it’s not because I’m single and therefore it’s slightly depressing when you have to drunkenly kiss your friend/run around the club looking for loving, it’s because of this whole New Year’s new start crap. This is my mentality after every night out whilst listening to Dappy’s ‘No Regrets’ on my bed and trying to justify my mistakes as a learning curve. I even thought it on my drive back from Uni after Drink the Bar Dry, an event which encourages daytime binge drinking and leads to unspeakably embarrassing behaviour. However you can happily get away with anything too dreadful by saying ‘Well it was DtBD….so I can’t really be held accountable for my actions’, this is my excuse and I’m sticking to it.