Serious Business

It's the 29th of December. The day after the day after the day after Boxing Day. Frankly, I am surprised, and my surprise is gradually becoming concern. The Doctor Who Christmas Special was the day before the day before...I'm just confusing myself...it was a while ago, anyway. And obviously I am not going to blog about it, for three reasons:

1. I am not what anybody would call an expert on Doctor Who.
2. Other people I know who have blogs are.
3. I thought it was 'very good.' That would be two word-long blog post.

So obviously, as I am not an expert, I am also not weeping into my pillowcase every night because I do not know what Laura and Jane thought of it. It is just that the disturbing lack of undoubtedly excellent analysis combined with attractive pictures of Matt Smith suggests that more sinister forces are at work.

Which leads to the main point of this blog post: Did Laura and Jane...you know....die?

Has there been a horrific accident I don't know about? A Doctor Who related suicide pact? Did they enjoy the Christmas special so much that they chose to commit suicide because nothing else in the mortal realm could ever compare to it? Or did they hate it and die of the disappointment?

Or perhaps this whole 'huge fan' thing was a lie. They're now sitting in their respective houses laughing and saying: "Haha, just a TV show, haha. Who's Amy Pond?" No, that can't be true. God, I hope they're still alive.

So, Laura and Jane, fill out this survey.

"I am...

a) Dead
b) Still too emotional to type
c) Frozen in a box and only able to come out on Christmas Eve (do you see what I did there?)
d) Sorry? What? I didn't watch it, sorry. "

Lazy Christmas

It is gone 7pm, and I have not opened all of my presents yet, or watched the Doctor Who Christmas Special. Crazy, I know, but in my family, we finish stockings at 9.30, then there's a long break until eleven when everyone eats breakfast and gets dressed, and then we open presents until about 12.15 when my parents and granny go to prepare the turkey. We eat Christmas lunch at 2.00, and by the time we have finished and the grandparents have had naps and the washing up is done, it is 5.30 and I realise I have been entertaining Jack for two hours. At this point I yell 'Are we going to open any more presents before Doctor Who?' and then by the time the grandparents have properly awoken it is quarter to six, and I say 'Fine, I'll watch it on iPlayer.'

Then we opened presents for another hour until Jack got fed up because he wanted to eat tea. I didn't mind because I recieved tartan button down pyjamas which I wanted to instantly change into, and wow they are comfy. Maybe before midnight we might actually finish opening presents. Who knows?

We used to make presents last until Boxing Day back in days of old. I literally don't know how every year the entire Christmas lunch process lasts for over five hours. In other amusing-moments-from-my-Christmas, my grandfather (who loves bow ties) said that he hoped the Doctor wearing them would make them more commercially available, and, at eight o'clock this morning, my Dad decided it would be a fun idea to lock me outside in the snow in my pyjamas.

Ooh, we're going to open the last of the presents now apparently. Excellent.

Too Much Fun

In our attic, there is a box that we get out around this time every year. In this magical box are eight electronic, singing Christmas toys which belong to my brother.

There is a snowman that sings 'Frosty the Snowman', a snowman that duets 'Winter Wonderland' with a smaller snowman, a Christmas Tree which sings a song called 'I'm the happiest Christmas tree,' a deformed looking penguin that sings a Christmas song no-one has ever heard of, a penguin on skis that sings 'Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow,' a reindeer that sings 'Jingle Bells,' a Father Christmas that sings 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town' and a teddy bear dressed as the Queen which sings 'One Wishes One a Merry Christmas.'

I spent the best part of my morning setting them all off at the same time and allowing the chaos to ensue. It is madness in this house. Sheer madness.

Fa La La La La La La La La

In the spirit of Laura's Christmassy wintry cheery blogpost, here are some particularly festive moments from my day.

1. Half of the staff at work had to leave at midday due to the snow, leaving those of us who live in St. Albans to attempt to run a cafe, but I didn't mind because the customers were very sympathetic and full of the joy of Christmas (except for one of the virgers, but oh well.)

2. I accidentally squirted milk directly into my eye in front of some customers. A little elderly lady said "Oh dear, you just baptised yourself" which made me laugh.

3. A little toddler named Edwin kept getting in my way. His parents were saying: "No Edwin, out of the way Edwin," but I didn't mind because his name was Edwin.

4. Steve from work and his boyfriend Clive gave everyone a box of licquor chocolates each. This was especially nice as I have never even met Clive, and the chocolates are delicious.

5. The Abbey looked beautiful in the snow as I left at 4.30 (we closed early.)

6. Once I got to my road, I decided to run down it while listening to Fairytale of New York. I would recommend this to everyone.

Old Age

Ironically, after blogging about still being a child at heart and enjoying Christmas pantomimes, I now appear to be aging at an alarming rate.

I am surrounded by old people every day that I work, because at a cafe in a cathedral the majority of the customers are, well, ancient. There are obviously exceptions, like their grandchildren, choirboys and the occasional young person who possibly wandered in by mistake. However, some customers come in so regularly that I have named them (in my head) "Crazy Old Guy", "Smelly Old Guy," "Old Guy With The Adorable Face," and "Old Lady Who Looks Like A Hammerhead Shark." And now I am worrying that aging might be catching. That, or these people do not go to the cafe because they are old; they are old because they go to the cafe.

Perhaps there is something in the coffee.

I found a grey hair.

An actual grey hair, just hanging there next to my cheek and my ear, amid all the other black ones.

I showed it to my Mum, and she said "maybe it's blonde." After all, my brother was born blond, and his hair has got darker ever since and is now dark brown. The same could be happening to me in reverse. But I compared it to one of my Mum's actual grey hairs, and it truly was grey.

This is only the beginning. Soon I will have wrinkles. And backpain (actually, I already have this today). Soon I will call everyone 'dear.'

A grey hair. This is ridiculous. I read books from the 'Young Adult' section. I have a cuddly toy lion. I know all the lyrics to 'The Teddy Bear's Picnic." I pulled it out. It is not coming back.

Oh no you didn't!

Oh yes I did.

Jack won four tickets for the whole family to go and see the panto of Peter Pan tonight at the Alban Arena. I know I am eighteen, and that I have finished school, have a job, and am technically a grown up, but I really, really enjoyed it.

Tomorrow at work almost everyone is going to be talking about what a fun night they had and how drunk they got etc., and I can pretty much guarantee that none of them had as good a night as I did. There was music, exciting special effects, a camp Smee, adorable lost boys and topical jokes. I saw Rolo's husband in the queue for chocolate ice-cream during the interval, and my brother laughed very loudly during any quiet moment, as expected.

I laughed, I booed, I shouted 'It's behind you!' and I clapped my hands because I believe in fairies.* We were sitting in front of a huge crowd of cub scouts, and during a version of 'For Good' from Wicked with Neverland-related lyrics (don't ask) one of them yelled "Don't get all emotional!" It was funny. Or maybe you had to be there, I don't know. And Larry Lamb from Gavin and Stacey was excellent as Captain James T. Hook.

Anyway, now I can go back to being a very serious grown up who does not sing along to a version of 'Another One Bites The Dust' sung by pirates. Expect the next blog post to be about the current economic climate, or my views on the student protests, or mortgages. In the mean time, 'I always want to be a little boy** and to have fun.'

*Shut up. Of course fairies are real.

**Girl.

Got Me Thinking

Both Laura and Jane's excellent blog posts, as well as Friday's episode of The Graham Norton Show, got me thinking more about this whole fame business (or, you know, showbusiness.)

On The Graham Norton Show, they always seem to pick guests that you would never expect to see together, like David Boreanaz and Sharon Osbourne, or Cynthia Nixon from 'Sex and the City' and David Mitchell, and the contrast is usually what makes the programme entertaining.

Except occasionally they will have a guest who is unbelievably famous, and is billed as the main attraction, and with very few exceptions I will never care about this person as much as the other, more minor celebrities on the show. For example, on Friday the main guest was Justin Bieber, and the entire audience screamed whenever his name was mentioned, but his presence almost put me off watching it. The only reason I did watch it was because of Jack Black and Miranda Hart. At one point someone from the audience screamed 'I love you!' after Justin Bieber had spoken, and Miranda Hart said 'Thank you.' Obviously she was joking, but I kind of wish the audience member had actually been speaking to her, or at least to Jack Black.

I think to properly admire someone famous you have to identify with them in some way, so on those kind of programmes where they have Justin Bieber next to Miranda Hart or Katie Price next to Jo Brand I don't understand why anybody would tune in for the former rather than the latter.

On a semi-unrelated and not-at-all profound note, I think Sally Philips who plays Tilly in 'Miranda' (I sat down, I gave it another go, I laughed out loud) is aging in reverse. She looks younger than she did in 'Bridget Jones's Diary.' So, now I think there is a fifth category of celebrity, which is 'Famous People Who Age Backwards.' These are surely the most dangerous.