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On Craig and Christmas
To start mid-conversation, it might be easier to make a list of what the Blue Pootle does like rather than what she doesn’t like.
Let’s face it: there’s a lot of stuff wrong with the world, from great big things like nuclear war down to smaller things like the way Hubby’s hair has this continually stickie-uppie bit at the front that no gel on the market, and possibly not even concrete, can tame.
So let’s make that list of BP likes. After all, this wouldn’t be a column without a list. I spend my life making lists, and not just mental ones or small ones that you pin to the fridge with a magnet, usually shaped like a piece of food such as a slice of tomato or a mushroom, but occasionally shaped like a lizard from Barcelona or the face of someone dear to you who was desperate to get you a present that you simply didn’t have one year; I’m sure you know what I’m talking about here. No, I make lists everywhere.
For instance, I make a list before I have a telephone conversation. Telephones, how I loathe them: all that button pressing followed by a moment of self-doubt as you envisage a loud ringing in an empty room, and you hope that you’ll be connected to a person you know instead of an alternate universe or God or something else you really don’t want to get in touch with. To get round this perfectly rational fear of mine, I make a list of everything I’m going to say, from ‘Hello’ downwards. That way, if I am connected to aliens or God, I won’t say something completely foolish such as ‘jam!’ or ‘I’ve just eaten a packet of Bombay mix and a burp is imminent’ (Incidentally, this is something I once said on my one and only telephone job interview, leading to no offer of employment as a crossword compiler for the Gloucester Echo – something I once thought would be my dream job.) leading to instant destruction of the human race on the grounds that it’s too ridiculous to be allowed to continue to exist. However, it might also explain why I tend to answer the questions people should have asked rather than what they actually say when in phone conversation with them. Why don’t people say what they should when they talk to me? I find life difficult enough without having to listen as well as talk.
There I go again, listing the things I don’t like. So here’s the loved-up yummy list instead, as promised:
That Daniel Craig – wowity wow oh wow. No need to explain that like to the crowd, methinks, unless you’re all a load of men, in which case, take my word for it, and try to be more like Daniel Craig every day in every way. Put your backs into it.
And Christmas! Christmas is great, isn’t it? Imminent arrival of Christmas to gate 2006, eh what? I’m so excited about Christmas this year. Actually, I’m excited about Christmas every year. When I was four I threw up on Christmas Eve through sheer delight and that’s really been my reaction to the holiday season ever since. I wish I could say this is due to love of Jesus, but it’s actually the presents. I adore getting presents: I’m a present whore. I had a small child simply so that I could open her presents too; when she gets big enough to open them herself, then she’s old enough to have a job, a flat and a different postcode, that’s my belief.
So, to get to the point, if you want me to love you this Christmas (and I have room in my heart for you, I swear) buy me a present. And any smart-arse that buys me a phone will be on the receiving end of one of my heavily scripted conversations. Yes, the present rule even applies to you, Daniel, although something under a tenner is acceptable in your case.
I’m off to wait hopefully for the mailman under the tannenbaum. Hurray for the joyous intermingling of Christianity and Consumerism! Have a good one, chaps!
Word of the Day: Galactagogue. A substance that promotes the production of milk. (Hubby says he’s fairly sure that a baddie called Galactagogue fought Godzilla in a film once as well.)
Go here to provide the Pootle with feedback, start a discussion about Christmas, talk about her new novel, Three Things About Me, or simply to say hi. And if you want to make her really happy, presents can be sent via the editorial address (we promise to pass them on, honest).
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