I think I’ll spend this Christmas alone. I did last year and the year before that and about eight of the last twelve and those eight went ok without the stoned, drunken non-friends, who filled the remaining four.
I’ve got a frozen turkey joint (three quid reduced from five for some old bird that obviously wasn‘t fit to go in turkey twizzlers), spuds, S&A stuffing, chocolate biscuits, lots of peanuts, enough lager to make the next two days go in a blur (thanks to a supermarket alcohol super-deal and the nectar points I’ve saved all year for this very purpose) two jars of pickled onions and will want for nothing.
No tree, no presents, no company, but luckily I’m great company myself and sing and tell myself jokes that I haven’t heard before to cheer myself up. So, though I may be poor by our standards, I have the fridge and cupboard of a millionaire by the standards of millions of starving people and should count my blessings as I piss off the neighbours with my seventh rendition of “16 tons“ and generally try to keep myself amused.
I’m the most messed up, alone and isolated person that I know, but please don’t feel sorry for me. I’m quite capable of doing that for myself…