A Happy New Year...?

Brace yourselves for a shock; I like New Years Eve. I absolutely love it. It holds more excitement than Christmas or birthdays. I always stay up to see the new year in and stick two fingers up at the old year slopping off in disgrace into the distance. After a particularly tough 2015 I was extra excited to say Adios to this year and start a lovely, bright, brand new year as soon as possible. Think of all the possibilities and opportunities that lay ahead. Its like binning your page of scribbles and getting a clean sheet of paper and starting all over again. I always make new year resolutions. My resolutions for 2016 are condensed into one point. BE HAPPY. That's it. That's all I want 2016 to yield. I don't want any nasty occurrences or startling mishaps. I don't want any drama or any capers. I don't want any major highs or major lows. I want to ride a steady course in the new year. I am just going to keep my head down and stay well and truly out of trouble. I plan to avoid making any huge life changes and just sit comfortably in my well dug rut on my own with a smile on my face. Heavenly.

If only life was like that.

Already my 2016 plans have been scuppered. I have been having seriously painful toothache recently and have been putting off going to the dentist. I will be honest and hold my hands up and say I haven't been to the dentist for about 17 years. I have never had toothache or any problems with my teeth until now. I have no fillings. I brush two or three times a day, occasionally I might use a whitener or have a swig of mouthwash but that is the extent of my oral hygiene routine. So, when I got the sensation of Satan driving his flaming pitchfork into the back of my jaw I really had never experienced pain like it. Having discovered my childhood dentist didn't accept NHS patients anymore I searched through the local directory to find a dentist who would help a common peasant like myself. I contacted dentist after dentist and got turned away each time. But then I found one called the Village Dentist in the next town. I rang their number and was told they had room for new NHS patients and they even could see me that same day to look at my tooth. I was so grateful that I nearly started crying when I was booking the appointment with the receptionist. However, when I ended the call I began to wonder why, when every other practice was full to the rafters with patients, was the Village Dentist so freely available. I began to have horror movie scenes of bloody buzzing drills being held by masked maniacs rush into my head but I had to pull myself together as the toothache was becoming unbearable and I needed to get it fixed sharpish.
I attended the appointment. I explained that I hadn't had a check up for a while. The dentist was a very small, skinny lady with jet black hair and shiny eyes. She could see I was nervous and she was kind and tolerant towards me even though she was obviously extremely busy and rushed. I had an x-ray and this showed a hole in my wisdom tooth and the dentist told me she would need to extract the tooth. "But you're going to give me sedation, aren't you?" I enquired worryingly. No, she wasn't. I was informed that I would get a local anaesthetic and I would be awake throughout the procedure. I nearly passed out then and there. I had to lie back down in the dentists chair. I asked if I could go to hospital and get it taken out under general anaesthetic. She said she could refer me but it would take up to a year and it was easier for her to do it. Ok. She seemed pretty confident in her abilities. I asked how it would be done. What type of machine did they use and how long would it take? She laughed. "Theres no machine!" she chuckled. "Its me who pulls your tooth out!". I could feel the blood drain from my head and pool into my feet and I must have turned a funny colour as she got me a glass of water and told me it was a routine procedure and not to worry. I told her she was a very small woman and that I didn't think she was strong enough to pull out my back tooth. She seemed to take offence. "Its not down to strength" she quipped, "its technique". Good God.

So there you go. That's how I am starting my lovely new year. In the first week of January I am having my tooth pulled out medieval torture style. I am hoping this very painful, traumatic start to the year will be a one off and that the universe has decided I have to get all the nastiness that 2016 holds over with quickly in order to pave the way for carefree bliss in the coming months.

Ha! Yeah!  (And so it begins, again).

Christmas

Guess what? I loathe Christmas. It comes round quicker every year. I hate the messy cards I have to display that the kids pull out of their school bags. I hate the queues in the shops when all I want is a loaf of bread and a packet of mini rolls. I hate the loving family adverts on the television and radio that you cant escape. Christmas songs make my bowels rumble with stress and anxiety and Christmas films make me involuntarily shudder. Bah humbug doesn't even cover it. You would think now I have umpteen children I would gain some pleasure from the festive season. I don't. In fact it has escalated the phobia. Now I have the added feeling of deep heavy guilt to add to the mix. I never have the foresight to save any money earlier in the year to buy them presents they are actually worthy of and want. Due to my ineptitude they have grown up thinking Father Christmas and his elves are working in partnership with Poundland. I am lucky that this year my youngest is only one year old and so has no concept of stockings and what he should expect waiting beneath the tree on Christmas morning. (He has a second-hand high chair to look forward to in case you're wondering). He has acquired a taste for waste paper recently and although this habit results in terrible constipation he can have a festive fill up on the big day and munch as much cheap wrapping paper as he likes to make up for the pauper, Dickensian gift. 

I cant cook. I tried to reserve a table at a restaurant so the kids didn't have to suffer the dried, chewy turkey I usually dish up. Of course I have left it too late. The waitress at the Harvester in town informed me gleefully as her sides shook with laughter and tears streamed down her face that there were no tables free on Christmas day. So I shall be in the kitchen boiling up vegetables and carving meat that everyone will thanklessly moan about having to eat. I hate Christmas Eve. I hate having to fill up the stockings on my own and having nobody to share being Father Christmas. I hate going to bed and not being able to sleep because of the intense dread I feel looming thinking about the following day.

Yesterday in the early evening my doorbell rang. I went to open the door. Before me stood three teenagers complete with dirty tracksuits and trainers with a muddy football tucked under on of their arms. 'Can I help?' I asked as they were staring at me blankly. 'Yeah', said the biggest boy. 'We are carol singers, innit?' I looked them up and down waiting to be surprised by angelic voices rising out of their gangly bodies and for them to  bestow Christmas cheer. They didn't start singing. I shrugged and started to close the door when the biggest boy must have decided to abort the pocket money mission and shouted at me, 'Oh, fuck you then, ugly bitch' and swaggered off down the road with his grubby posse in tow. It brought a yuletide tear to my eye. God bless you too Tiny Tim, you little shit.

I reluctantly made a window display this year. It is comprised of a rather furtive looking light up Santa whom I have dangled from the top window handle. I have  sprayed snow spray at the bottom of the window to really set the wintery scene. The children loved it. I thought it was rather good too until I tried to rub a bit of errant fake snow from the side and discovered it had set like cement. When I look at my window display now I am constantly reminded of the job that awaits. Instead of Father Christmas popping round I need Barry Scott

I hate Christmas.

So, I have come to a decision. Next year I am going abroad. Christmas 2016 will be spent with the children digging holes in the sand whilst I relax with a festive mocktail. No more Thuggy Tiny Tims at my door and no more worrying about having to cook. I simply cannot wait. Bring on next year.

A nightmare.

I am sitting on a bench in the park. I am watching my children play on the swings. Up and down. Higher and higher. Backwards and forwards. The sun is out and it is busy and noisy. He comes and sits down beside me. I can feel his shadow on me blocking the warmth of the sun and it makes me shiver. 'Hello friend', he seems to say. But he doesn't use his voice. I can feel his intention in the closeness that he has breathed into my ear. I try not to respond. I concentrate on  the children and the sun and the creaking of the swings. Up and down. Backwards and forwards. He seems miffed at my snub and he shifts nearer. He drapes a long arm of blackness casually behind my back. He brushes his long, icy fingers along my arm. It makes me anxious and I can feel the panic rising inside of me, rushing out of my bones and filling my body with adrenaline. I try and stay focused on the children in the park. The sun has gone behind a cloud now. The swings have slowed down and people seem to be leaving. It is less busy. I want to leave too but I know I cannot. I know that if I move he would jump on my back and I would drag his heaviness about with me. I am too scared to look directly at him. It would be acknowledging his existence. He tries to turn my face by stroking my cheek but I don't flinch. I let the feeling of dread settle on me like toxic ash that I  dare not brush off for fear of doing more harm than good. 'Have this', he whispers as he drapes a cloth of smokey grey over my shoulders. It clings too tightly and I feel suffocated as it moulds to my shape. It pulls me down yet I bear the weight.

The sun has disappeared from the sky. It is dark and also very cold. The park is empty. The swings are swaying gently by themselves. I look for my children but I feel groggy and slow and I cant find them. I can feel my lungs fill sharply with air and then rush to push out that breath and swallow again. As I breathe quickly I am filled with the darkness and the loneliness of the place which has consumed me. It is now a part of me. It has saturated my very being like oil and it drips out of every pore. 'I am always here now', he says. I know this. It is obviously no comfort. He makes a lonely companion.

It starts to rain and as it does I feel a realisation of acceptance fall down too. Fat drops of acquiescence pitter-patter all around me. I haven't the ability to be strong any more. I give in to him and I succumb. I can feel his large, curly smile next to me. He has won. Both players knew he would eventually. It was not a fair fight.

So I sit and I stay. I am not expectant. I am not waiting. I am just still.