by Dyan Sheldon
Rang Marcus to see if I could go round to his for Christmas, but turns out his family’s going to stay in a lighthouse somewhere off the coast of Scotland till New Year’s Day (he doesn’t have a clue as to why – neither of his parents has ever shown any interest in the sea). As yet another example of how unpredictable the male of the species can be, Marcus thought the Oxfam Christmas sounded like a brilliant idea (probably because he doesn’t have to do it). He said he’s pretty fed up with the gross commercialization of Christmas too. He said things are so out of control he wouldn’t be surprised if they had Harry Potter advent calendars. What did Harry Potter have to do with Christmas? It was about the coming of Jesus not Harry Potter. Somehow, when Marcus says this kind of thing it isn’t as annoying as when Buskin’ Bob says it. I completely agreed. I said did he remember that Christmas Birds Eye paid for the lights in the West End? At first everybody thought it was meant to be the Dove of Peace swinging over Oxford Street, but turned out it was the Birds Eye logo. So it was actually the Dove of Peas! Marcus thought that was hilarious. He said he’d be très relieved if his family decided they should all make their own presents – then he wouldn’t have to go shopping. He says shopping takes years off your life.
SUNDAY 16 DECEMBER
As much as I like the idea of not having to spend any money on Christmas presents (especially since I’m IN DEBT!), I am v busy as per usual and don’t see when I’m going to have the time to make anything. Also, I don’t know what I can make – unless it’s a gag for Lucrezia. (I’ve got that book for Nan, which I reckon is all right since I didn’t actually BUY it. So that’s one down.) Went over to see Willow today to see if she has any ideas. Apparently Willow and Jupiter have all been invited round for Christmas dinner too. I said she did realize we’re having bread and water, didn’t she? She said it’d be a relief not to have to stare at some poor dead turkey all through the meal. Willow’s doing everyone a Personal Horoscope and Jupiter’s doing the illustrations. I said, “Well, there goes that idea.” Willow got out this book she bought in that cheap shop in Camden. It tells you what you can make out of stuff you find around the house and is full of things like papier-mâché jewellery boxes, bottle-top earrings and coasters made of dried macaroni and beans. (You can see why it was sold for pennies – I’m surprised they weren’t giving it away.) I pointed out that I’m a Creative Artist not a craftsperson. Willow couldn’t see the difference. She said well, why not knit everybody a scarf (something only a hippy would think of!)? I said I couldn’t knit. Ditto crochet. Woodworking, pottery and metal sculpture are also out. As are candles since the time I poured hot wax all over the cooker. Willow said, “You’re always talking about your poetry – why not write everybody a poem?” I said that was a typical layperson’s attitude. I said you don’t just sit down and write a poem. Just one poem takes months, not a couple of weeks. Also, you have to be in the mood. Willow said what about biscuits? I asked if she was offering or just hungry? She said no, really. Why don’t I make home-made biscuits? My question was: Why would I want to do that? Apparently I’d want to do that because home-made biscuits are special and a Gift of Love. And they don’t require Inspiration. I said I didn’t see what was so special and Full of Love about something you can buy for 59p in Safeway (assuming you’re allowed in Safeway). Willow said that was the point, wasn’t it? What makes them special is that I make them myself. I can decorate them with coloured sugar so they look really Christmassy. She says the cheap shop always has really nice gift boxes and tins for under a quid, so after they eat the biscuits they can still use the container. I said I thought she was forgetting one teensy thing – which is that my culinary skills pretty much start with a cup of tea and end with a hard-boiled egg (I’ve given up on soft-boiled). Apparently biscuits are dead easy. Willow gave me a book (another bargain!) and a cutter in the shape of a star.
MONDAY 17 DECEMBER
Disha’s still avoiding me like I have some MAJOR communicable disease. She was all over Catriona Hendley at lunch like honey on a spoon. I wish there really was an Aunt K to console me. (I mean, one who isn’t ME – oh, physician heal thyself, right?) I just can’t believe that the bus of friendship has moved on without me. Especially over an AUSTRALIAN with hairy ears.
TUESDAY 18 DECEMBER
Since I haven’t come up with any more ideas on what inexpensive and easy presents I can make for Christmas in the Third World, I snuck into the supermarket after school today to check out the baking section. You wouldn’t believe what they want for this tiny little tub of green or red sugar! Unless it was hand-dyed by Father Christmas, it’s ABSOLUTELY OUTRAGEOUS. And forget the other stuff like the chocolate bits – you’d think they were made out of gold and they’re not even made out of chocolate! (I can’t stop reading labels now – no matter how hard I try.) Was on my way back to Green Army Headquarters when who should I see with her arms loaded with shopping but SKY?!! (I’ve always said there’s NOTHING spiritual about her, haven’t I?) I believe I was divinely inspired because, instead of turning right round and acting like I hadn’t seen her, I actually accosted her. Blah blah blah… How are you…? Blah blah blah… Been Christmas shopping…? Blah blah blah… It was all pretty mindless and excruciatingly boring. But then Sky said something about Durango and I said (and this is where Divine Inspiration comes in), “Oh, are you still working there? I thought Disha said you’d left.” Sky wanted to know who Disha was. I said, “You know, Ethan’s girlfriend. She’s my best mate – he met her through me.” That was the moment when I finally understood why Justin always lugs a camera round with him. Oh, how I wish I could’ve photographed Sky’s face when I said those magic words “Ethan’s girlfriend”. Not that I’m likely to ever forget it, of course, but it’d be nice to show people. Sky wanted to know what I was on about. She said, “I’M ETHAN’S GIRLFRIEND.” I pretended to be all flustered and shocked (acting is definitely another of the many career possibilities open to me). I said I thought they hardly knew each other, and she said they kept quiet about it at work because of Saduki and all his rules. I was still stammering apologies and muttering about me and my big mouth as Sky stalked off with Blood in her Eye! It is definitely the season to be jolly! I was half tempted to get Flynn and Marcus and race round to Durango to watch the fireworks.
WEDNESDAY 19 DECEMBER (There is a Father Christmas!!!)
I was having an absolutely fascinating conversation with Sappho tonight about Birthing Horror Stories (thirty days in labour … twenty-pound babies …. quadruplets two days apart … the sorts of things that make a young girl long to be pregnant) when the doorbell rang. Normally I’m not that eager to drag myself all the way down the hall to find out it’s a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses or some bloke selling tea towels, but I was pretty worn out by Sappho’s tales of suffering and pain (you’d think having a baby would be easy – I mean, EVERYTHING does it; how can it be so hard?). You can imagine my SHOCK and SURPRISE when I opened the door to find DISHA PASKI standing there! She was wearing the orange top I gave her and had a package wrapped in silver paper with a purple ribbon round it, and she was crying. I said well, it was nice that she was so glad to see me. She said she was sorry for everything, especially for DOUBTING ME. She met Ethan tonight and Sky suddenly jumped out from behind a building and let rip. Disha said she couldn’t believe that all this time Ethan was two-timing her by two-timing Sky. It really is true that we’re at the mercy of our feelings. Here was my chance to be v sarky and get even, and what did I do? I STARTED CRYING TOO!!! I said I was sorry for not being more sensitive (though I don’t know how I could have been when she never told ME anything!). Disha said I was right about Ethan’s jealousy but she hadn’t known how to handle it. Being a rabid feminist, Sappho doesn’t usually have any time for weeping women, so it must be her impending motherhood that’s changed her because Disha and I weren’t halfway down the hall before she came shuffling out of the kitchen wanting to know what was wrong. I said nothing; everything was all right now. Sappho offered t
o make us tea! (Which means it truly is the Season of Miracles!!!)
THURSDAY 20 DECEMBER
Buskin’ Bob has returned from saving Malaysia with a new hat (batik) and a tan. He was in the kitchen POPPING CORN when I got back from Disha’s this afternoon. I said he did know you can buy it in bags already buttered and salted, didn’t he? And he said it wasn’t for eating; it was for stringing. I said PARDON? He said strings of popcorn are much nicer than environmentally unfriendly tinsel on the tree. If you ask me, this is a matter of personal taste. I like tinsel and I don’t care if takes three billion years to decompose either. To add insult to aesthetic injury, he expected ME to do the stringing! I said I had a previous engagement and went over to Marcus’s.
FRIDAY 21 DECEMBER
Today’s the winter solstice, which is Sappho’s Big Holiday. She turned on all the fairy lights that are still up from my party and it looked well cool. (That was the highlight.) Next Sappho put on a CD of some pagans chanting. Then she lit some incense and candles and read a poem about a tree, and then we had sweet cider and oatcakes. That was about it really. (You can understand why people turned to Christianity, can’t you? The food and the music are très, très better.) Since the solstice isn’t over-commercialized like Christmas, Sappho bought our presents. I got a postcard book of Frida Kahlo paintings (because I once mentioned her to Sappho). I was hoping for another diary. Was saved having to pretend to be too enthusiastic because the incense made Sappho nauseous and she wobbled off to the loo as soon as she gave out her gifts, and spent the rest of the night vomiting. [Note to self: Did the Virgin Mary have to go through this?]
SATURDAY 22 DECEMBER
The MC had a party to go to tonight and Sappho was beached on the sofa, so I decided it was a good time for biscuit-making. I’d already picked my recipe (Basic Sugar Cookies). I think Willow must still smoke pot because her sense of reality is v distorted – she was très wrong about just how hard this home-made biscuit lark is. First I had to dye the sugar for the tops with food colouring. Then I had to melt the margarine to get it soft enough to mix with the flour. After that, I discovered that we were right out of vanilla flavouring, so I had to use a dollop of the Christmas sherry instead. And then I had to ROLL OUT the dough, which is v time-consuming and not as easy as it sounds. The first lot stuck to the counter. The second lot stuck to the table. Rang Willow, who said you’re meant to roll it on a floured surface. I said well, why didn’t it say that? And she said it did. Had to move all the small appliances to the floor to make enough room on the counter. And something went horribly wrong with the coloured sugar. First of all, the colours weren’t too brilliant. Also, it turned into a paste! I’d been at it for hours, so I wasn’t about to do it all over again. Spread it on with a knife. Put the baking sheets in the oven, set the timer and went to take a quick shower since I was COVERED in flour. When I came out of the bathroom the flat was filled with smoke, the alarm was shrieking away and Sappho was hanging out of the back door being sick in the garden. (I don’t know why they call it Morning Sickness; she does it morning, noon and night!) The MC was at the sink with a tea towel across her face looking v unfestive. Of course, she blamed ME! She wanted to know what I was trying to do – BURN THE HOUSE DOWN? I said I was making my Christmas presents, wasn’t I? WHICH WASN’T MY IDEA. I’m perfectly happy to have a commercialized and materialistic Christmas like everybody else. Also, now I’m going to end up giving everyone empty boxes.
SUNDAY 23 DECEMBER
The gods of burnt biscuits left me no choice – I’ve had to give in and buy presents for my extraordinarily extended family. I reckoned that as long as I got really inexpensive little things, I couldn’t be accused of rampant materialism or contributing to the commercial bloodbath that is Christmas. Disha went with me to the cheap shop beloved of Willow. (Not only is it cheap, but a lot of the stuff comes from China or somewhere like that. According to Robert, most of it is handmade by blind prisoners and orphans. So, if you ask me, that means it’s v close to being home-made.) It was brilliant. I got something for EVERYONE (even Sappho’s baby). And for a lot less than a T-shirt! Was so chuffed I treated Disha to lunch in the West End so we could do some shopping for ourselves while we were out. Waiting for the bus is usually très boring and irksome, but today it was DISGUSTING as well. There was VOMIT at every stop. D said that’s how you know it’s Christmas – that and the lights and the manger, etc. We had a brilliant time. Everybody always bangs on about how IMPORTANT friendship is, but it’s true! It’s only now the real Disha Paski has reclaimed her body that I realize how much I missed her while she was the Zombie of Love. Disha says the same. She says being in Love was très exciting and all, but now that it’s over, she wonders what it was really about. She says she was out of her mind most of the time because of Ethan’s jealousy. You won’t believe this – she ACTUALLY wrote to Aunt K!! Disha was But I Love Him! She said Aunt K was right (of course!) but at the time Disha thought she was v offhand and dismissive. I said I didn’t think that was true at all. I said that Aunt K was just demonstrating her incredible knowledge of human behaviour and she should’ve listened to her. Nearly got into another fight! (Disha’s still très defensive.) D said Aunt K may be right NOW, but at the time Disha didn’t realize what a deceitful creep Ethan was; she thought he was the Love of Her Life. I said so Love Is Blind. Disha said and deaf and dumb as well.
Got back to find that Robert and the Deadly Duo had arrived. The MC made me drag the tree in from the garden, of course, while she and London’s Answer to Bob Dylan sat round singing about holly and ivy and drinking environmentally-friendly mulled wine! Marcella wouldn’t help, because: (a) she didn’t want to get dirty; (b) she’d just done her nails; and (c) she prefers artificial trees (I wonder if it’s possible that NEITHER of them are actually Buskin’ Bob’s). Perverse as always, Lucrezia INSISTED on helping, then got a microscopic needle from the tree stuck in her hand and practically had to be hospitalized! Was exhausted by the time we got it inside. Since the fairy lights are still up and it doesn’t look like anyone’s going to take them down, we at least didn’t have to go through the drama of putting them on the tree. Marcella doesn’t like our ornaments, and Lucrezia was still SUFFERING UNSILENTLY, so I got volunteered to do the decorating while Buskin’ Bob went off to get the popcorn. That’s when he discovered we have mice (or possibly rats – something that likes popcorn, anyway). The MC came after me like a nuclear warhead! She was all atwitter because in searching for mouse holes she found the dishes I put away in the broom cupboard and is holding them responsible for the INFESTATION. (Shows how much she cleans up – that was AGES ago! And she says I’m a lazy cow!). Blah blah blah… She actually stood next to me while I washed them, with her arms folded across her chest! I said you better watch out or your face will stay like that. Let me assure you that having a boyfriend has done nothing for her sense of humour!
More trauma while the MC and the Eco Warrior continued to scour the kitchen for mouse holes. Lucrezia and Marcella locked themselves in the bathroom for safety from the rodents of London. Of course, it was Cinderella Bandry who had to race to Woolies for tinsel. What would any of them do without me?
Asked Marcella why she came here, to the Third World, for Christmas when she could’ve stayed at home with her artificial tree. She said because the Actress and the Entrepreneur have gone on a cruise. Also, she doesn’t mind about no presents, food, crackers or other festivities because they celebrated early at her mum’s, so she got all the stuff she wanted and they even let her have a glass of champagne. Here, if she wants a glass of water she’ll probably have to go to the well for it.
CHRISTMAS EVE
Sigmund had to fetch Nan this morning. I said I’d be happy to go with him and do the driving, but he REFUSED. He said he thought Nan was way too old to survive a journey with ME, even if she was a spy in the war. I went along for the ride anyway (he wouldn’t even let me drive going on the grounds that he’s too close to seeing another year in to risk it!).
Even if it meant being squashed in the back with Mr Kipling and Nan’s bag, it was better than staying at home as Robert had everyone stringing cranberries (apparently not on the mouse menu) instead of the popcorn. For a change though, Nan left Mr Kipling at home. She said she was afraid he’d sit on Sappho’s baby’s face while it was sleeping and suffocate it. That started Sigmund off on how superstitious Nan is. I pointed out that Sappho doesn’t actually have a baby, and Nan said but she will. And all the space that the cat basket would’ve taken didn’t go to waste – Nan filled it up with placards. I said what’s this, have you got a job advertising the January Sales? Apparently there’s a Peace Vigil tonight. I said Christmas Eve’s an odd time to have a demonstration – everybody’s going to be at parties or getting drunk or whatever. Nan says Christmas is peace. Sigmund said tell that to the Vietnamese (whose present from President Nixon was to have Hanoi flattened by bombs, apparently). Of course, as soon as the Mad Cow clapped eyes on the placards she decreed that I should go to Parliament Square with Nan (it’s obvious that the MC was an Absolute Monarch in a former life and I was a serf). I said you mean that while everybody else in the world is watching television and eating chocolates, I’m going to be standing in the rain with Nan, trying to keep my candle from going out? The MC said that was precisely what she meant. D was already off visiting the family, but Marcus isn’t leaving town till the morning so I decided to see if he’d come with me. If you asked most boys whether they wanted to spend Christmas Eve standing in the cold and the rain with a bunch of fanatical Christians, they’d say no, right off. But not Marcus. Artists are meant to be moody and temperamental, but even though Marcus is an excellent painter (Mr Belakis says he’s a dead-cert for Saint Martin’s), he has a v patient and flexible nature – more like a fisherman than a Creative Spirit. Marcus said of course he’d come. He said it was better than watching Toy Story again – and he always likes to do new things. So off we went on the bus with Nan and her placards. There were a few more people down at Parliament Square than there were in the manger in Bethlehem – but not many. (And not a shepherd or king in sight!) My first thought was that they must all be homeless, but it turned out most of them were Quakers. Nan made straight for this old geezer with a golden lab. It was wearing a sign that said LET LOOSE THE DOGS OF PEACE. The old geezer was wearing a bowler hat and carrying an umbrella with a peace symbol painted on it. If you ask me, he looked like one of those blokes who walk around with signs saying that the world’s about to end, so I tried to stop her, but it turned out he’s the PRIEST that runs Nan’s Jesus group, the Very Reverend Jerym Noad. The dog’s name is Luke. Both of them seemed pretty pleased to see Nan (which must make a nice change for her). Nan latched onto them and more or less forgot about me and Marcus. Marcus said it looked like my gran’s got a beau. I said he must be mad. My nan hasn’t dated since the war. Also, she’s WAY too old for that sort of thing. Marcus said well, they seemed pretty close, and I said that was because she was sharing his umbrella. Anyway, for a few hours we just stood round trying to keep our candles from going out (as predicted by Janet Bandry!). Then a couple of people started singing “Oh, Holy Night!” and then a few more joined in until everybody was singing – even one of the coppers! It was like being in church – except for the rain and the fact that nobody was just pretending to sing; they were all belting it out like they really wanted God to hear them (or possibly the Prime Minister, though you can bet he wasn’t hanging round Parliament on Christmas Eve). I moved closer to Marcus because it was cold, etc. and he put his arm around me. It really is true that you NEVER really know what’s going to happen next. I turned to Marcus to say that I could murder a hot cup of tea and (wait for it!) … HE KISSED ME!!! Right there in front of Big Ben! I said, “What’s that for?” He said, “It’s Christmas,” and held up a piece of mistletoe he’d brought with him. So I kissed him back.
