I. Hate. Christmas.
There I said it.
Shove me an award for being a miserable parent if you want, I don’t give a toss. I do not love the festive period.
I don’t mind the actual day – the jubilation in The Girls face when she opens her presents is always wonderful but what I do not love is the run up to it.
Every sodding TV channel is drowning in adverts aimed at kids and they all seem to play on an endless loop showing news dolls, bears, electric toys and whatever else small people like. I swear if I have to hear ‘I want one of those’ once more, I’m taking the TV down.
It’s driving me bloody insane.
The shopping centres are no better either. People dressed as Disney characters doing everything in their power to entice my daughter into the shop so she can no doubt demand one of everything.
They receive a glare as cold as the weather daring them to carry on. I think I must just radiate the term FUCK OFF!
The Girl went through a catalogue and insisted Santa bring her one of almost everything.
I tried to explain that ‘Santa’ might run out of money buying everything she wanted and that perhaps she should just think of one or two things to ask him for.
I may as well have gone out and reasoned with the lamp-post.
I’m convinced that marketing and advertising geeks don’t have kids otherwise we wouldn’t be inflicted with such hell.