It’s like Christmas but. A journal entry by Joy Redmond

It’s a little like Christmas because

It’s nearly lunchtime and I’m still not dressed

I’m mindlessly eating chocolate before breakfast

Getting dressed involves exchanging indoor slouch pants for hiking trousers

I’m not going to bed before 2 am


It’s like Christmas but

The smell of smoked ham, cloved red cabbage and gingerbread isn’t filling the house

The scent of the real Christmas tree isn’t putting a smile on my face every time I enter the room

There are no visitors to eat fancy cheeses or my gourmet pud

We’re not listening to airport reunions on the radio or experimenting with G&Ts made with flamed rosemary from the garden or Jamie’s mulled cider or whatever is this year’s trendy Christmas drink

We haven’t received and regifted a half dozen tins of Quality Street or Roses

We’re not wrapping presents in plain sight for the sheer thrill of being caught

We’re not giving out about having to go to this or that because we’re going nowhere


It’s like Christmas but instead of

Playing scrabble and fighting over gin rummy rules and scores

We’re working and studying from home and complaining about bandwidth

We’re going to bed late but getting up earlier than ever because we can’t sleep

Instead of watching Love Actually or It’s a wonderful life in incandescent light

We tune in for today’s count that arrest us like the toll when a tribute dies in the Hunger Games

We find tears running down our faces every few hours

The sun is shining, there is heat in the air but we’re staying indoors.

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