...Christmas is just around the corner. You can tell through the cold bite of the air, the drunken revelling of that extraordinary work Christmas party, The Medic cringing with embarrassment about her work Christmas party, finally making good the endless ice skating battle with The Raconteur, the return of UniGal from the cold, cold North. And I haven't even begun shopping.
I have sat down and penned a letter to The Reverend. I have done my best to cheerfully introduce myself, without being too desperately friendly. In point of fact, I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to say to a pastor. Will he, I wonder, stare down at my scribbled words and immediately know I am a non-believer? Will he denounce the heading of 'dear sir'? Perhaps I should have written 'Dear Reverend', or 'Dear Vicar'...
Or 'Messenger of God'???
I stared blankly at the sheet, trying to think of some way of fitting Do you have a piano??? into the message. We were advised to send a photograph of ourselves- the instant I was told, I could only think of the prints of myself in a corset and hotpants, with false eyelashes out to here. In the end I simply sprint out of my house, tear down the road and ram the letter into a postbox before I lose my nerve and take a match to it instead. I decided not to include a photo.
I am rather worried about the total absence of my passport. I packaged it up with my Visa application and sent it away at the Briefing. Since then, there has been neither hide nor hair of it. It's hard to know when is the fitting time to start panicking about ordering a new one. Perhaps I am being overly anxious- but then, the idea of trying to talk my way into Ghana without it seems altogether too much work.
Cheerful Christmas drinks with The Actor.
"I'm going away in seven weeks! It's so exciting!"
"I'm doomed to suffer a life alone, forever...."
'Tis the season to be jolly indeed.
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