The Landlady: new year, old rubbish
Christmas in Landlady Towers passed pretty much as it does every year, meaning that I entertained a few friends, and the occasional stranger, the stranger, in this case being the half-Japanese New-Yorker girlfriend of my friend’s son, who joined our Christmas dinner at the last minute. She was warm and witty, did not know what a parsnip was and was constantly Instagramming pictures of her Christmas sprouts to friends in Tokyo. Furthermore, she gave me some dodgy-looking Japanese hangover pills, which would have actually been more useful for the night before. Fuelled by a drip-feed of champagne, I managed to stoically cook Christmas dinner, in spite of the fact that I was suffering from the Hangover of Satan on Christmas Day. This was mainly the joint fault of The Boyfriend and The Big Son, who kept me up drinking all manner of alcohol until 6am (that’s the last time I remember seeing at least). We were all very sorry on Christmas morning, especially The Big Son, who had to work all of Christmas Day. I had assumed I was immune from being sucked into Christmas Eve madness, because The Big Daughter was safely far away in Australia, but unfortunately, The Big Son saw fit to step into her shoes for the night.
“She was constantly Instagramming pictures of her sprouts to friends in Tokyo”
So, now it’s 2014 and I still have a Hindu Kush-sized pile of recycling left over from Christmas. I just don’t understand why the recycling is never collected at the time when everybody’s box is overflowing with Christmas cardboard and bottles and a collection is most necessary. It really annoys me. I know everyone is entitled to a Christmas break, but I am obliged to work at the Supermarket for marginally more than the minimum wage over the festive period, running the gamut of angry women from Hove who are unreasonably angry that we do not have any carrot batons, so why can’t the recycling be collected? Even recycling can’t be as unpleasant as violent Christmas shoppers…
On the twelfth day, I got up early and took the baubles off the Christmas tree, then, to spare the harassment of pine needles trailing all through the house, I threw the tree out of the living-room window, much to the consternation of several scaffolders working on the house opposite, who might have imagined that I was in the throes of a vicious row with my partner and was intent on wrecking the joint.
So, now the Christmas tree has been dragged to the recycling area in St Ann’s Well Gardens, and Landlady Towers looks like Christmas never happened, apart from the piles of soggy cardboard and plethora of wine bottles in the front garden. As a treat, I’m going out for dinner with my friend Miss T in Lewes tonight, which is very dangerous as neither of us has an off switch. I think I might be needing those Japanese hangover pills tomorrow…
