Phantom Christmas

I have heard of the concept of a phantom pregnancy, where, perhaps because she longs for a baby, a woman develops the symptoms of pregnancy, yet there is no baby to be born.

This year, I had a phantom Christmas.  I made all the preparations – cards, gifts, food, sleeping arrangements.  Even though I try not to over-complicate, there’s still more than enough to do.

Pascoe, Perran and Carenza had all arrived home, much to our delight.

Then on the morning of Christmas Eve, I woke to find I could not get out of bed – I was gripped by a fever and aches and pains. Even my eyes hurt too much to read my novel.

On Christmas morning itself,  I got up for just long enough to see Pascoe, Perran and Carenza open their gifts.  I tried to be glad for everybody else’s sake that the sun was shining for the annual Christmas walk.  I got the makings of dinner out of the fridge and, led by Carenza, the rest of the family cooked and ate them.

By Boxing Day Nigel had the flu too. 

Gradually, over the next couple of days, we began to feel more ourselves again and had some good moments with our lovely children.  However, by Sunday lunch time, they were all gone, back to work, or celebrations with friends. 

Now there is bedding to wash and leftovers to use up, evidence that the festival took place, but I kind of have this weird feeling that I’m short by one Christmas.

Perhaps I’m due two next year!

When you thought you knew somebody and then….

I’m in pre-Christmas headless chicken/blue-bottom fly mode.

Rushing round shopping, wrapping, posting.

But something this week made me come to a complete stand still.

It was a totally unexpected find, and it is taking me a while to process.

Whether it is good or bad I have not yet decided.

Let me explain---

I was just putting away some gloves when I opened Nigel’s hat/glove/scarf drawer in the hall cupboard.

There, carefully arranged in Marie Kondo style were all Nigel’s scarves.

“Nigel, did you do this?”

“Errr, yes.”

“And is it working well for you?”

“Yep.”

And there I left it.  But in my depths, I am troubled that after thirty-five years of marriage, he can still surprise me.

Better to light a single candle

In October, I wrote that I had been out protesting/demonstrating and that it made me feel empowered in the face of a scary world.

Things have since got even scarier. 

But: “It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.”

So in the days running up to the election, in between working hours, I leafleted a couple of streets on behalf of the People’s Vote Campaign (suggesting tactical voting) and another four streets on behalf of the Lib Dems.  I also helped to collect dozens of letters aimed at stopping the expansion of our local airport (if it happens, it will greatly increase carbon emissions) and also sewed logos on a few tee shirts for Extinction Rebellion.

It was better to be doing something than sitting and fretting.  Or at least it would have been, if I hadn’t run myself into the ground and succumbed to a heavy cold.

And now, the national election has gone against everything I’d prayed for. 

As Annabel said “Woe, woe, and three times woe”.

But on the bright side, in St Albans we got a brilliant new Lib Dem MP, Daisy Cooper.

And concerning the National Tragedy, all the campaigning work I put in means I now have a copper- bottomed excuse to ‘curse the darkness’ or grumble.

But being a positive person, I’ll probably do something more constructive instead…

…like tunneling all the way to the Continent and leading the rest of my life there.

Lost Babies

All year round, I take photos of lost things.

I’m not sure why – perhaps it is because of the stories they suggest.

Sometimes the lost things are lying on the ground, sometimes perched on a fence for the owner to spot.

The commonest item is hats, the second commonest, gloves.  So no surprises there.

At the Greenbelt festival, I found a whole get-together of lost items

And recently a lost moustache made me smile.

Another memorable find was some abandoned underpants, just outside a public toilet which had been permanently closed and chained up.  Fill in the story for yourself.

But the most amazing things this Autumn were two lost babies, both in the same week.

Anthony Gormley’s sculpture of his own baby was left in the courtyard of the RA, making passers by marvel at its statement of vulnerability.

And on a school carpet, somebody’s tiny plastic baby doll, sadly not intentionally abandoned, I suspect.  I hope it found a new and loving owner.

What will I find next year?

Lots of hats and gloves, no doubt, but also, maybe something else to make me marvel.