“I feel Christmassy… Do you feel Christmassy??”

Michael Mcintyre:
“Every December I go through the same dialogue with my friends and family: ‘You know, I don’t feel Christmassy at all this year. Do you feel Christmassy? I don’t feel Christmassy!’ “What is this thing; ‘Christmassy’?

“But something will change around the middle of the month. You start to feel ‘Christmassy’! And you feel so happy you declare it to everyone:

“For the first time this year, I feel Christmassy. Do you feel Christmassy?? I feel Christmassy?!”

That is the same piece of diatribe I had with my dad this morning. And it’s about bloody time, after all it is Christmas Eve.

For some people Christmas starts when they see the famous coca cola advert, for others it’s when they hear the first Christmas song of the year. But for me, this year, I started to feel Christmassy when I saw an OAP driving a scooter wearing antlers on his helmet.

Maybe it’s because my family have never had a strong set of Christmas traditions that get me in the mood (so to speak) but each year it takes me longer and longer to feel festive. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. Mostly for the right reasons (friends, family, goodwill to all men), and partially for the wrong ones (presents, food and drink). But either way, in recent years I’ve found myself ho-ho-ho-ing at the more sinister side of the season.

For example, last Boxing Day Dad kindly took me to Curry’s horrific sale. Still bloated from festive food and fine wines we hauled our chubby bodies into the car and plodded our way round the country lanes of Wiltshire. Singing loudly to the Phil Spector’s Christmas CD Dad left in his car my body almost flew through the windscreen as he slammed on the breaks. There, lying in the middle of the road was a dead reindeer. The news was in: Rudolph had been killed. It was a scene that would have ruined thousands of childhood fantasies. And yet, I couldn’t help but laugh when my sister returned to the scene the next day to have her photo taken next to it. It was this year’s Christmas card.

My belly also shakes like a bowl full of jelly when my parents recall the Christmas day when my doting dad left the house to go and buy batteries for some since-forgotten toy. As he got to the till at the local petrol station, Dad couldn’t help but notice the man dressed as Santa standing in front of him buying 20 B&H. Dad smiled, full of seasonal joy, and said those famous words: “Merry Christmas!” The Santa turned round, his nose as red as Rudolph’s and his breath as bad as Dot Cotton’s and said those slightly less famous words: “Fuck off!” Happy memories.

But now I’m feeling those Christmas feelings I’m off to drink my body weight in cider, sing loudly and stuff a nut roast (not as easy as it sounds).

Merry Christmas!

In the beginning there was the word, and the word was... erm...

I've never been good at first impressions.

I mumble and stumble my way through awkward conversation, appearing too aloof and disinterested in what the other person is saying because I'm distracted by my brain yelling, 'dear God, please don't think I'm an idiot!' I come across as some sort of twit.

Fortunately it doesn't stay that way forever. The pointless rambling, complete lack of common sense and clumsy flaling of limbs seems to grow on people until I've secretly coerced them into thinking being friends with me is a bloody good idea.

I hope that's what happens with this blog! One day it might turn into something magnificent and profound, but imagine this first post to be the crap chat-up line that starts the relationship off.

Sure, you might be reading this thinking, 'well this is a waste of five minutes', but I promise you that third, fourth and fifth impressions are much more fun. Also, I had to pop the proverbial cherry somehow! (I've owned this blog for a good six months already.)

First impressions may be the most important, but for now I'll just stick with this:

Hi, I'm Jenni. Nice to meet you.