The Christmas season is officially
upon us. I know this because all the shops
here are playing Christmas music (in fairness, plenty of them play it
year-round), the decorations have been up since before Halloween, Starbucks is
selling its Devil-worshipping egg-nog lattes, and I went online last night and ordered a load
of stuff from John Lewis (£10 per delivery to Singapore folks! GET ON IT.) I have also caught myself looking
at Elf on the Shelf ideas –although all require way too much time and effort - and
making Christmas lists. I even tried to
book the family on to a Christmas Lights tour
- WEEKS away – but notwithstanding my organisational prowess, there is a whole heap of folk out there even more so, and it’s sold out. (Damn you all. Also, thank you - I’ve just been saved
$225. [I know! But when you raise an
eyebrow at these prices, everyone just shrugs and says That’s Singapore! When in
fact, That’s Fucking Robbery Madness is what it actually is.])
I am determined to have it all done by November 30th so that
I... Actually I’m not sure what I’m
doing this for. So that I can spend December
enjoying all the Christmassy things which the tropics have to offer? So that I can have weeks snuggling up beside
log fires sipping mulled wine and feeling safe from the howling winter wind? Hardly.
However. The Baby started a coughcoughcough today, and
had a slight fever this evening, and both these things indicate that I will be
getting no sleep or free time for the next 4 or 5 days (or however long it
takes me this time to get her and her chest infection to the doctor). Which means that – PHEW – things this
Christmas will likely be as normal, and I will spend the 20th-24th
December queuing and driving and compromising, and of course - spending.
In other news, I had a highly pleasant
start to the day with breakfast and gossip and birthday (not mine) cheer and decent
English Tea (and only slightly disgusted the birthday girl when I stuck my hand
into my gob to remove my false teeth before eating), and then a not so pleasant
work effort involving my crappy laptop, a cafe and no power chord. After picking up the Baby from nursery and
then the Girl from school, and depositing them to various classes, I went to
the most disgusting supermarket in Singapore – possibly in the whole world (it
smells of piss and ozone. In fact it
smells of the cats’ bedroom.) – to complete the shopping list for those odds
and ends unavailable in my normal supermarket.
(That hard-to-get stuff, like milk and rice krispies and apples.) And then I ventured into yet another pet shop and stared aimlessly at
kitty litter, looking for the one called This Stops Your House
Smelling Like This Place, or, failing that, some clumping
litter as instructed (thank you Misses W and S). When I got home the Boy was leaping around
naked with one of the water sprayers in his hand shrieking with evil glee, and one
of the cats was sitting in a huff and a puddle under the table. There is little as amusing as the look on the
face of a wet cat – so that cheered me up. There followed, in the following
order: dinnertime, far-too-rough-playtime,
bathtime, bedtime, booktime, more bedtime, shouting time, tears time, and then
the final bedtime. Dinner while watching
the pilot of The Good Wife (because people RAVE about it and I need something
to watch. Should I persist? Right now it smacks to me of a female version
of Suits, which was DREADFUL and a total waste of however many hours I gave the
first season.)
And that was my day. I am about to turn in with Go Set A Watchman
(which natch, I am deeply prejudiced towards. Book suggestions please. So far this one is
50% boring, 50% rehashing stuff from that other
one.) I might as well get to bed
early, because I’ll be up in 4 hours to hold a sweaty hand and swat at marauding
cats.
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