Country Living with Francis Farragher
I have to admit to being in a state of denial for at least the past two weeks. The inevitable will happen . . . it always does . . .but I am battling stoically to avoid any mention of the Christmas word (oh, God, I’ve just done it) in any conversation.
Whenever the topic comes up, I either leave the room, increase the volume on the television or put on the headphones and listen to some loud music, but surreptitiously the monster is edging closer to us with each passing day.
The funny thing about the season of mirth, goodwill and all that baloney is that when it happens, it’s not so bad after all, but on occasional nights through October I find myself waking up in a state of some bother, after dreaming, or should that be nightmaring, of having consumed two ducks, three bottles of wine and a gallon or so of lager.
I’ve heard rumours along the way too that our righteous brigade of nannies will be doing everything they can to ensure that the Guinness ad for the season will be no more, as those blighters from Diageo were, or course, all along hijacking Christmas from under our noses, and taking our minds off ‘Santy’ and the little baby in the manger.
Probably the Budweiser and Coca Cola ads will bite the dust too just in case our innocent little minds couldn’t decide on the real meaning of the season and we might be inclined to pop into the local and chance a few scoops of the famous brews. Perish the thought.
Already there’s party dates solidly booked for months by now, but my motto for the build-up to the grand finale of 2017 is maybe to pencil in one event early in the season, do everything to excess, and then endure a subsequent day of both mental and physical anguish, that will completely flatten any further thoughts of excessive merriment for the rest of the holiday period.
I know that there are probably some deep rooted psychological issues that even the smartest shrink couldn’t get to the bottom of, for worrying about the C word, before October has breathed its last, but just when I’m on the point of recovering from the ailment, someone will invariably drop the line in of: “Where’s the Christmas ‘do’ on this year?”
For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.