For anyone who truly knows me, you are aware that swearing does occur. I am, after all a Londoner, where swear words are taught phonetically and included in the National Anthem.
In fact, when I emigrated, I quickly cleaned up my act as I realized that this is one of the differences in US versus British culture, that and driving on different sides, oh and we never saw Gilligens Island, oh yes and we don't understand American football at all, oh and I still say British people do not look good in shorts and American gravy is not as good as British gravy. Apart from that, we are very similar.
Anyway, I digress as this blog is about Christmas. I love Christmas. The lights, the stories and the cake. It's all a great joy to me and suits that very large part of me that believes in magic.
I am always the one on the street to put up the tree early, sorry, but yes, it's me.
Putting up my decorations has become one of my greatest passions. I actually have themes and this year it is a winter wonderland.
It has to be expressed however that for the last forty minutes, bad language has been louder than the carols blasting from the Hallmark channel. Once my glittering, starlit and snowflake garland fell, again, I decided to calm down by setting up my musical trio of mini Christmas trees. When I push the button to let loose lights and angels singing, it sounds like a submarine is disappearing with just one green light as its guide, so my guess is that the batteries are running low. I am, of course, prepared and already have batteries.
So, why oh why, do they lock down that plastic battery case with that stupid, tiny, effing screw? Who on Christmas Lane, but the bleedin' elves, has a screwdriver that tiny? And why? When as far as I can see, its only bloody Christmas lights that need them. Who sat there and truly thought, I know what we need to do for extra safety at Christmas, tis the season and let's put in something that nobody will ever be able to get out?
It's just a trio of mini Christmas trees, it's not the next rocket to Mars.
AND why, oh, why are some push pins easy to get into the wall or window frame, yet just one inch to the left, or right, or down in any direction and it's suddenly like cement? Oh don't get me started on push pins. They love to pretend to hold things, until you walk away and four of them shoot out from the wall at the same time and you can only find three of them, and of course it makes sense to decorate while wearing pajamas with bare feet.
Oh and don't get me started on step ladders, which to me may as well be as high as the empire state building covered in ice on a windy day. I'm scared of standing up, so you have to understand that me balancing on one of those has me reciting a hundred mantras, through gritted teeth of I am safe, I am safe, while picturing toppling off.
So I have to think every year, is it worth it?
On the Hallmark channel, putting up the decorations is one of joy, mugs of cocoa and great lipstick.
They also wear sweaters, clearly they've never decorated during the hot flush season.
Maybe I should go ice skating - yes well don't get me started on ice skating - another scary adventure that I would long to attempt and am embarrassed to say may never happen. (Don't tell Gary, who plays ice hockey with great precision and confidence.)
So my dear friends, once you visit the Winter Wonderland of Jayne, please disregard how low everything is, or that certain light bulbs are not lit and certainly do not question why the trio of musical trees is hanging, strangulation style, from the kitchen fan ceiling.
It is the magic of Christmas.