Revelry On A Germanic Boxing Day Whilst Sitting On A Well Worn Sofa In an attempt to start this article yesterday I found myself relaxing in wait for divine inspiration on a well worn sofa. This was at the end of a transient day that lies between Christmas and New Year. As I did so I reflect on the fact that expenses have risen though at this time of year. It might just be this that shades my visions a colour not far from grey. Whatever the instance might be, casting aspersions on the character of yuletide celebrations is not likely to adhere me to your attention. Instead I attempt to draw the gaze of those who continue on this page to a conundrum. One that has plagued mankind since the dawn of big things themselves, and taxed our very attitude to the point of insanity as a result. Namely, who holds the remote on Christmas Day? What do we watch? That is a small teaser compared to the clincher. What order do we watch them in? Should we take turns to decide on Christmas viewing or should it remain the province of one party to take charge of the remote? Whereas Chrissy dawn is full of delights and wonder that deteriorates as time passes, ultimately becoming a parody of itself, the great beast that is Boxing Day holds the waste of energy that is enthusiasm without basis. The waning of enthusiasm and amount of people holding their bruises after the family feuds of the previous day casts a slight damper on the overall effect of good will. Peace for all men becomes ever so slightly soiled. However having now traversed the great void that is the festive period and the layby it that is Boxing Day one feels slightly exhausted. That is not to say that the time spent was not enjoyable, though it was a trying one. A plethora of gifts sprayed the well forged family battle ground and a wealth of tinsel showered the earth beneath it. Being of Germanic origin the presence of the tinsel might explain this. Though having said that it seems unlikely that such a simple explanation would be justified. The casualties were many but few were regretful of there sacrifice. Indeed some rejoiced in the method of their revelrious gesture. Prostrating themselves on the altar of all orgies as they did so. So now that the revelry is over for a couple of days perhaps it may be time to reflect on what it all meant? Then again perhaps not as such an examination has already been covered by past posts. On the matter of contemporary statements I have been brought to bare on the reality of events this evening though. It became obvious to me, as I returned home this evening, that I might be guilty of dwelling too much on the past in a swelter of blindness. This revelation occurred when I looked at my phone and was struck with a piercing ding as a Watsup message came in. To my surprise and delight it was a message from my step daughter declaring that she loved me. Such a declaration felt completely out of the blue as I was in a depressed funk at the time over how few hits I was getting on my latest posting. Where did that come from? I thought, and said as much. Perhaps this is what Christmas is about. Its a trial to prepare us all for the missions the New Year will bring. Missions we are obliged to accomplish before 2015 is out. Perhaps the starting of an article is not so important as how it ends. Now if I could just step out of this mushy sentiment I have just expounded around me.....
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 12:00:04 +0000
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