Welcome!
This is me. The Moog. Also known as Weeble. And here I get to have a soapbox …. a forum for voicing my views about the world in which I live. I shall be sharing with you my thoughts and opinions, and introducing you to my life. Who knows, perhaps a spin-off or a mini-series. Yeah, maybe not. After all, who’s gonna play me? Billie Piper?
I’m not much cop with the whole HTML thing, so I guess it’ll be a steep learning curve for all of us. Oh happy day.
So what’s first for me to get off my chest? Oh yes. Bloody Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. I don’t buy into that whole Lord’s Day/Saviour/Bethlehem crap, but if you do then good for you. But, yeah, I love the run up to it. Well ….. I should clarify that. I love the run up to it in the fortnight before. You know, from the 2nd week of December onwards. The cold, the smells, the food, the family … all good stuff.
But I was out walking the other day (happens on a regular basis) and walked past a house who had it’s Christmas wreath on the door. I’m not joking. Holly, ivy, fir branches (ok, they were all plastic) – even fake snow sprayed on it a little. All on the front door as bold as brass. Well, as bold as plastic greenery. I think that the middle of November is a little early for active decoration. I do know people who put the tree up on December 1st, and would happily revel in Christmas lights all year (now that is a post all of its own …). I only revel in my own sanity so I tend to enjoy Christmas more because it only happens once a year. If it was every week what would be the a) point and b) fun?
I had to take a detour through a department store this afternoon. The fact that we were unable to walk down the high street unjostled and unencumbered by strange women singing loudly and badly at us and were therefore forced to go through a store we had no intention of going in was bad enough. However, the first section we were confronted with was the bloody in-house Christmas shop – all full of over-priced twig sculpture, fake feather and eco-baubles. Presiding over it were 3 shop girls. Ok, 2 shop girls and 1 shop old woman. One of the girls (who was probably no more than 15, yet 9 feet tall) had actually bedecked herself with pink tinsel (pink? tinsel is …. silver or gold or blue or red …. but PINK?) and had hung baubles off her already majorly Creole of hoops.
Anyway, all that said, I’m back to snuggling with Armando. Maybe I’ll convince him to get in a pic or 2 somewhen soon …..
