Always more brilliant ideas and the end of Christmas.
Every year the ideas just get better, the gifts more useful, attractive and shiny and you wonder how lived so long without these marvellous things. Then there are parties and meals and friends, things to say, things to do, jokes to hear and conversations to listen in to. Attractive couches on which to rest after eating too much and drinking too heavily and sleeping too late. Perhaps there will be something good on the telly. Drip, drip, drop and the damp and frozen postman brings more cards and seasonal flyers, all day and night Indian take aways, taxis to the airport, gas services and double glazing and teaser promotions for the summer holidays (just around the corner). Then comes the one and only ever, greatest Dixons, Currys, Argos sale and the two tone couch adverts mouthed by a familiar face from the seventies as the leggy girls relax in studio sized lounges. Looking forward to getting back to work and being surly and deadpan in the morning, if only for a break from the hollow celebrations that truly add up to nothing because we are all celebrating nothing much in particular. Avoidance of the cold and seeking out the vital warmth. Perhaps at this point the real world will intrude: a real wedding, a real birthday or two, being happy - that’s more like it. And the sparklers will sparkle, the wine will fizz and pop, the stars will shine and the many crooked paths to heaven will be strewn with leaves of green and it’s only still November fifteen.
And your toe nails wont hurt any more because they've now recovered from their vicious pruning.