My plans to have an impromptu Christmas coffee with my mum were foiled on Monday by the news that the upstairs café in the Dundee Markies was shut.
I learned this devastating news from the door staff who were once again marshalling a social distanced queue that disappeared around the corner.
Assuming the worst, I gently enquired if the café was shut because of Omicron.
“Nah, we just needed somewhere to keep all the turkeys.”
That little fable neatly sums up the fear that we’re all living with at the moment. Ready and anticipating the very worst of what might be around the corner.
I should perhaps clarify that the turkeys have already faced the worst of their fate.
They are all de-gibleted and packaged up in their cling film wrap and are not, as you might have feared, flapping and squawking their way around Gallagher Retail Park.
In truth, my biggest worry right now is that everywhere seems to have sold out of ready to roll fondant icing.
I’ve been nursing my Christmas cake with decent brandy since the tattie holidays.
The idea that I can’t finish her off in the way that she deserves is unfathomable.
So tonight I’m going to have to make my own fondant icing and I honestly could see it far enough.
Delia Smith will hold my hand, as she so often does with Christmas recipes, but it’s still not going to be pretty.
It doesn’t even look that hard. But there’s just something about icing sugar that 100% guarantees our kitchen is going to look like a crime scene dusted down for prints later tonight.
Christmas cheer feels in short supply this year
Everything just feels that bit harder at the moment.
As if the entire nation is just collectively fed up.
Most of us want to do our bit and follow the rules, but it’s getting harder.
In fact it feels harder now than it did in the first lockdown when the rules were so much tighter.
My tolerance levels for the decisions of others is dwindling too.
Smart people I know refusing vaccines because they think they know better.
The maskless seemingly invincible young men, and sorry it is largely young men, invading your personal space in the supermarket.
I feel like I’m just days away from becoming an overt grass, prepared to openly challenge folk whatever the consequences.
415 @scotrail train from Queen st to Waverley awash with folk drinking cans/bottles and therefore maskless – we’re in deep
— Kezia Dugdale (@kezdugdale) December 10, 2021
I know that’s stupid, counterproductive and thoroughly un-British.
As a species we’re supposed to just tut under our breath, glare and moan about it in a now socially distanced queue somewhere afterwards.
I’m just tired and the holidays can’t come soon enough.
I’m fortunate to have the best part of two weeks off the day job, although I’ll continue to do a bit of writing and media here and there.
But I’m also going to impose my own mini little circuit breaker. This time with social media.
I’m A Celebrity cured my addiction, so why am I doom scrolling again?
I used to be absolutely obsessed with my phone when I was a politician. It was literally never out of my hand.
When I went to the jungle for I’m a Celeb in 2017, that cycle was broken, because it was taken off for the 12 days I was in the camp.
When I was handed it back, the addiction was essentially broken.
I smugly told people I’d reset my relationship with instant news and cat videos.
But it’s crept back in slowly but sure surely over the years.
Now I’m back to my old ways of doom scrolling at night while some riveting, deeply clever TV dramas glide over my consciousness.
What a waste.
If I picked up a book every time I picked up my phone, I reckon I’d be a polymath by Easter.
Far more importantly, I’d be happier.
My Christmas gift to myself – delete Twitter and take a social media break
The problem with the endless scrolling is that all I ever see is the news, which let’s face it is rarely happy, followed by people offering their own opinions and analysis on the news, which let’s just say, rarely perks up the raw ingredients.
So I’m going to give it all up for Christmas.
I’m going to delete Twitter, Facebook and Instagram for at least a fortnight.
If I had any semblance of cool, I’d know what Tik Tok was and delete that too.
I suspect some might say that’s all a bit naïve.
That we can’t or shouldn’t hide from the bad news that surrounds us.
I wont fully escape it though, I’ll still watch the TV news and buy a paper. I’m just choosing to consume it differently.
I’m dialling down the 24/7 doom-mongery and dialling up the carbs, cake and festive spirit.
That’s my Christmas recipe. And for all else, there’s Delia repeats on the iPlayer.
