As anyone who knows me can tell you, I hate Christmas. It’s an occasions thing. I don’t like any of them. Not Easter, not birthdays but, especially, not Christmas. This year I decided to avoid it altogether by talking my husband into going away on holiday for the whole of Christmas week. As I’ve not had a holiday in over a decade, he agreed, found us a lovely place to stay and booked it. However, he loves Christmas so I’ve been feeling pretty guilty about him missing it.
We told the kids we wouldn’t be here this year and my daughter, also a Christmas hater, was pleased for us and made me promise to see it through (the last time I went away with just my husband, the kids were small and I missed them so much I asked to come home the day after we got there). However, my son loves Christmas so I’ve been feeling pretty damned guilty about him missing it. He’s 25 and moved out but always, always sits under our tree on Christmas morning.
Now, I’m sure all of you who live in England have seen on the national news about the landslide in Whitby and heard, that because of it, a row of cottages are going to be knocked down. Guess where we’d booked to stay for Christmas week? Yep, one of those. What are the odds? I was gutted, totally, absolutely, one hundred percent gutted. Then, I decided to take it as a sign. If our holiday cottage being hit by a landslide and then by a demolition crew isn’t a clear indication that me and my husband shouldn’t have gone, I don’t know what is!
I was going to share with you my latest paintings. Since my last blog though, uploading photos has altered and I can’t figure out how to do it. Will post them as soon as someone computer savvy shows me how.