I am now back in the UK after spending a few days in Venice hiding from family with my girlie. I’ll get photos up soon. I seem to have some kind of ear infection that makes me feel like I’m still aboard the Venician floating bus stops. It’s making me sick.
I also came to work today only to find it’s some kind of bank holiday. Although I do not work for a bank, my colleagues have decided not to come in. I’ll be going home early and claiming an extra day’s holiday. (I did wonder why the roads were so quiet this morning.
Now that Christmas is over I can quit explaining to people that the reason I’m not overtly-excited, or even happy, at this time of year is because I am not a Christian*. It seems that nearly all of my friends and family are closet, behind the scenes Christian nut-cases and must spend the rest of the year very quietly praising their lord. Come December (or even November) they fashion their credit cards into little boomerangs, sprint into the nearest department store and celebrate the miracle birth of Jesus by buying anything they can reach for people they don’t even like.
I’ve still got New Years Eve to get past before I’m in the clear though. “I’m afraid I’m not a Catholic either, so I don’t follow the Gregorian Calendar. Sorry.”
* Well, if you actually know anything about Christmas you’ll know it’s actually the pagan midwinter holiday of Yule. In fact, the birth of Jesus isn’t even documented properly in the Bible. The story is told only by Matt and Luke (the disciples, not the 80s pop band Bros.) and their accounts have huge glaring differences between them. Christians tend to ignore this, as they do with Dinosaur bones, in accordance with the laws of ‘faith’.
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