Friday, December 23, 2005


I'm back and relatively healthy. Besides, there is only room for one poorly person in our house: the husband has had a tooth extracted, and will probably spin out the suffering until the first week of the new year.

I'm a hypochondriac though, so any opportunity to wallow in self-pity has to be relished. I take after my grandmother. An innocent enquiry along the lines of "how are you, nan?" would prompt a catalogue of ailments in every body part, more often than not really embarrassing symptoms. I have thousands of cousins and we'd all receive our Christmas presents in September each year with the following explanation: "I'm givin' you yer Christmas box now because I don't think I'll mek it through the next wik or two, let alone ter Christmas day".

Needless to say, she lived to a few months short of her 90th birthday.

* * * * * * *

There have been comments made here and here about the new breed of thuggish carol singer which must be a new way for our lovely young people to try to extort money with menaces out of the public. To top it all, some turned up at our door last night - the procedure nowadays seems to be to knock the door and not start singing until the householder opens. As we heard some giggling outside, we didn't bother to answer, and neither did anyone down our street by the look of things. This is turning into another Hallowe'en phenomenon.

Anyway, I hope this won't put anyone off donating money to my Christmas singing group, the Annoying Acapella Quintet, as we're going out visiting local homes tonight fundraising for The Society For Hard Faced Chainsmoking Women.

We do versions of Christmas songs and carols with an often wry, humorous twist, accompanied by a squeezebox and, at times, a backing tape of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

I'll be the one wearing giant reindeer antlers.

Open up your purses, folks!

Been sitting here 5 hours waiting for you to knock on the door.
You could be in for a long wait. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong. The tape of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir is playing up and Keith who does the falsetto vocals has got laryngitis.

We'll have to cobble something together I suppose.
If prople think a bunch of Mormons are outside there's no chance of them opening the door.

Get a grip woman.
The tape of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir gave up the ghost, and the only other one to hand was Brain Salad Surgery by Emerson Lake and Palmer so we used that instead.

This meant that people couldn't stand it and paid us to go away. So we managed to raise £237! Unfortunately we spent a lot of it behind the bar of the Jolly Millers to celebrate our success.
I come from a great family of hypochondriacs. My grandmother, who lived to 94, was always sure that death was just around the corner. My father is forever wailing that he "must be getting alzheimers" because he can't find things. He never could find things! He should worry--I'm the one that put my glasses on my head, forgot they were there, then proceeded to hammer them into my skull while trying to pat my hair into place after it was whipped up by a strong wind!
Me? I just figure I'm steadily going nuts and have been for the past almost 41 years. I try not to be a hypochondriac. But I'm always secretly thinking that every little ache and pain is actually cancer.
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