December

And suddenly it was December.

Last Thursday, an icy cold morning, wrapped up in coat and gloves, my breath in steam, surprised at the sudden appearance of a Christmas tree in reception, the smell of cypress.

Suddenly it's December, and less than 3 weeks to Christmas. My Christmas cards, late again this year are unwritten, unposted.

Well, being frank, they're yet to be purchased and there are only a few days left before the last postal date to Canada.
Presents have yet to be decided, yet to be bought and don't even mention the wrapping.

I think in a sense I am waiting patiently for the festive season to pass me by, this year I doubt there will be a tree in the house. And for the first time I am glad of it.

Don't get me wrong, I do like Christmas. I love London in December, the parties, the men in tuxedos on the streets, the women in gowns. I love the window displays, the decorations, the thoughts of eggnog, the lights along the South Bank. Yet somehow this year, it feels different. It doesn't feel the same.

Christmas is about spending time with loved ones, my mother and her 3 Christmas trees, a house full of people, sherry at 10am and mince pies at 11, The Gorgeous up too late wrapping presents. Pillowcases stuffed full instead of stockings. Too much food, too much wine, the sound of laughter echoing through the rooms.

I miss that, more than I ever have, this year.