Dickens is dead. There is no more white Christmas in London. It's just Starbucks with Christmas themed lattes, Ann Summers selling santa themed cheap lingerie and weird, weird Selfridges windows (Santa with loads of beer cans, I don't get it). So I have escaped for a real Christmas in the Mid West.
Over here in Minnesota, people genuinely want you to have a merry Christmas. They really, really do. The weather is currently hovering round -15C, so there is a real need for a hearth, hot cocoa and wrapping up warm. People carol like they mean it and it's the thought that counts.
I have been sledging, ice skating, and snowballing. We have mulled wine, nogged egg and will probably have a fairytale dinner. The radio is filled with White Christmas, people are carrying round wreaths with a smile. The saccarine could kill.
But damn it, it's real. London Christmas is all about signs on the tube saying 'Don't fall on the tracks, fuckwit' or 'Don't piss yourself, you pathetic piece of shit'. People will drink themselves to death, then crawl on an overground train back to whatever suburban shithole they came from. It will rain, your parents will criticise you for not planning your future and all you will want to do is rush back to the grey metropolis to go back to drink the New Year into oblivion. You will get gifts you hate, wince as you think of the credit card bill waiting on your doorstep then wince again at the thought of another year of drudgery.
I'll probably build a snowman, wear a big wooly jumper and sing round a piano. So fuck London.
1 comment:
But Lee,
That's real. I couldn't live in a happy world, where people care about each other & are actually interested in someone outside of their immediate bubble.
The American's may put a better tint on it, but that's because they can't face up to the trench of maggots resting just beneath everyone's surface.
ho ho x (love to the wife)
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