There's a strange taboo that lingers in the air around the notion of spending Christmas alone. Rushed offers are extended: You must join us! I'll cook you a roast! It'll be nice to have company on Christmas day! The last is the indicator: we should spend time together because it's Christmas. Not that the people who made these offers weren't people I enjoy spending time with. But a Christmas without my own family was always going to be a bit odd and I wanted to indulge myself and have some "me" time. To most people, the very idea of being alone on Christmas day is a hideous tragedy, but I've test-driven it for you and let me assure you, a lonely Christmas is the new nicking the green triangles out of the tin of Quality Street and wearing your Christmas cracker hats while you watch Doctor Who.
I spent the morning at work, rising before the crack of dawn (if we're going to make this an accurate account). The atmosphere was fairly cheery, all things considered, but soon we were all finished and people were rushing off to see their families and tuck into their turkey dinners. I returned home in soft sunshine and finally looked in my stocking (
|St Andrew's Park|
|Berkeley Road looking onto Sommerville Road|
|Christmas dinner for one|