The number of this post is appropriate. Yesterday was my birthday. Every year for the best part of nearly sixty my mother would sing happy birthday to me as we turned on the Christmas tree lights. A ceremony which I never really thought was for me alone because we are a big family, but it was nice to be singled out. Of course I realise that isn't going to happen now, but there is still something hugely magical about putting the tree up on the thirteenth, twelve days before Christmas and we still do it. This is our tree - a little blurry (like me). Diane, Daniel and I sorted it out and Abbi viewed it on Skype (she will be back soon). My mum's name was Margaret and she died a couple of years back, not getting the phone call and her singing happy birthday still feels a little raw. I have her singing it on my speaker phone, still, because one year I was in Los Angeles (working on a film) but I haven't listened to it - though when I am scanning the messages sometimes I catch it. (I can't bear to scrub it - that and the one of my mum and dad having a conversation where he is saying, 'Och its the speaker thing, what dae a dae?' and she replies, 'Gie it tae me... hello Andrew, its mum here...' I have ceased to be sixty, the novelty has gone and I am firmly planted in this decade. Oh well, everyone said the sixties was the place to be and the big plans I had for the year, especially for The Boat, are already slipping into place. The world moves on, we move on, but I still like to put the tree up on the thirteenth. I love the sentiment of this song but let's be honest, its a great song - Happy Christmas, war is over... I wish.
The number of this post is appropriate. Yesterday was my birthday. Every year for the best part of nearly sixty my mother would sing happy birthday to me as we turned on the Christmas tree lights. A ceremony which I never really thought was for me alone because we are a big family, but it was nice to be singled out. Of course I realise that isn't going to happen now, but there is still something hugely magical about putting the tree up on the thirteenth, twelve days before Christmas and we still do it. This is our tree - a little blurry (like me). Diane, Daniel and I sorted it out and Abbi viewed it on Skype (she will be back soon). My mum's name was Margaret and she died a couple of years back, not getting the phone call and her singing happy birthday still feels a little raw. I have her singing it on my speaker phone, still, because one year I was in Los Angeles (working on a film) but I haven't listened to it - though when I am scanning the messages sometimes I catch it. (I can't bear to scrub it - that and the one of my mum and dad having a conversation where he is saying, 'Och its the speaker thing, what dae a dae?' and she replies, 'Gie it tae me... hello Andrew, its mum here...' I have ceased to be sixty, the novelty has gone and I am firmly planted in this decade. Oh well, everyone said the sixties was the place to be and the big plans I had for the year, especially for The Boat, are already slipping into place. The world moves on, we move on, but I still like to put the tree up on the thirteenth. I love the sentiment of this song but let's be honest, its a great song - Happy Christmas, war is over... I wish.
