Jingle balls

22Dec13

I’ve been making a list, and checking it twice, and all the Christmas ticks have been boxed. Top of the list: shockingly drunk people on the tube (morning and night). In truth, this was achieved by about 7 December but still, it’s good to spread the load of the festive preparations. Last Thursday night there was even an actual vomiter – though mercifully far away from me. It was the classic bark and ripple: bark as the projectile was launched, followed by the ripple as a bunch of strangers forged into one unit of Roman legion-style cohesion and took a step back from the eye of spatterstorm. All I could see when I peeped around the door jamb, past the appalled Polish girl and the contemptuous Italian, was a Eurobloke dabbing uselessly at his vast sports bag with a tiny balled-up bit of tissue. Welcome to London, World!

Queuing in the post office was another early win. Not because I was posting presents off to saucer-eyed young sproglets but because I was returning all the stuff I’d bought online under the illusion that a size or so too small somehow ‘wouldn’t matter’. Walking boots? Jumpers with titchy, tyrannosaurusly out-of-proportion arms? Idiot. The only things I’ve ever bought successfully online are repeat purchases of things I’ve already tried and bought in an actual shop.

And now it looks as if travelling is going to be peachy too – gales, trains delayed, storms. Bugger. Egg nog all round!

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