christmas cheer (and festive loathing)

I figure I should kick off my posting on here with something topical. And seen as though it’s nearly Christmas (SANTAAAAAAA!!! I KNOW HIM!!!) I’m going to kick things off with a little ode to Christmas shopping…

Today is December 5th, and somehow due to the magic of contactless (FYI: a very dangerous idea for potential shopaholics) and the inability to say ‘no more’, I’ve managed to spend a grand since last week’s pay day. Now, that’s all well and good, ‘cause I’ve got some mint presents for my nearest and dearest, but I also find that I’ve somehow ended up spending a whole shed load of money on none other than myself. How selfless of me.

It kind of seems to work out in my mind like this: “oh wow, I’m so giving and thoughtful and I totally just bought a load of fabulous shite for my family, I deserve a reward”. Yep, one for the fam, two for Mads. Nice one.

Living in London, I literally can’t escape shopping. It’s literally everywhere (I swear, mr bank man, I didn’t mean to spend all that money, the clothing just leapt into my bag!). Last weekend, I even had a momentary lapse in sanity and braved the wilds of Oxford Circus for an afternoon, and oh, what an afternoon it was.

The distance between Tottenham Court Road and Marble Arch tube stations, for those of you unfamiliar with England’s very own hell on earth, is about 1.8 miles. For the resident Londoner, that’s 1.8 miles of tutting, sighing, exclaiming loudly and elbowing people out of the way. I kid you not, honeys, I spent a good 2 hours getting from one tube station to another, and I reckon around 20 minutes of that was spent inside actual shops. What the fuck, humans?!

Now, I’m definitely no Scrooge. I’m just as willing to break into a chorus of “Jingle Bells” at regular intervals throughout December as the next man. But when it comes to sourcing the goods to stick under the tree, it would seem there’s a special Grinchy place in my heart filled with angst towards fellow shoppers. In fact, by the time I was about half way down Oxford Street, my demeanour had pretty much degenerated into something that resembled this piece of cinematic genius:

But no matter, I made it through and I’ve stocked up on some completely top dollar gifts for my fam and long-suffering boyfriend. 1-0 to me, fucking get in! I’d tell you about the stuff I bought, but chances are they’ll seek out this post just to find out. You’ll have to hang on til after the big dog has actually been to revel in my present-buying aura of greatness.

Any volunteers out there to manage my finances / bankroll my shopping problem?! You can find me watching Home Alone wrapped in tinsel.

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