Santa's coming but Sadie isn't

I ate my Christmas pudding on Saturday…

…and she was lovely. Yes, my cuddly lover Ms Hastings and I had a fantastic day. We did a bit of festive shopping, then some festive swigging in Charles St then it was back to my place for a bit of festive fffffff- (ok I’ll call it frolicking as it’s Christmas)

But now she’s back with her husband for the next few big days and I’m on my xxxxing own for Xmas. Ok, ok, I know that’s what happens if you choose to get mixed up with the married but such smug lecturing doesn’t make me feel more guilty or less desolate.

Of course, I’m having Christmas lunch with friends, but most of them are couples (of all genders) and, at the finish of the day, they go home together and I end up watching the fucking Snowman or something on TV with just my imagination for company and my fingers, of course. But in a time of love and giving, that doesn’t feel very appropriate – you can’t imagine Bing singing, “I’m dreaming of a wanking Christmas’ can you?

Perhaps I’ll get on with my book, a bit of angst never did most great writers any harm I suppose. I bet Ibsen and Graham Greene and Saul Bellow got pretty pissed at Christmas time so I too will channel my pain into my pages.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have drunk so much red wine today it always makes me gloomy…

Shmmmerrry Christmurrrrrrrrrse

Sadie xx