Bumfuzzled.

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December has rolled in, but you knew that. In rolling in it has obnubilated the soft November memories that I’m desperately trying to hold onto because I find December to be the most depressing of all the months, what with Christmas happening in it and stuff. All the fluffiness. And December is such a brash month don’t you think? Children are all whooped up waiting for Santa and everybody seems to be labouring under so much pressure. And then there’s the wholesale slaughter of turkeys: that happens in November too, but mostly just in the US. All the gobble silenced just because. December too is the month for office part-ays that most bosses feel obligated to sanction with a fake whoopy-doodle dandy, and most workers attend in order to be seen to be team players, and no-one wants to be there so much time is spent wearing false goofy grins while wondering if the boss has ever tried on his wife’s under things. Fiddlesticks to December say I. Five Sundays in December this year too, and Christmas is on a Wednesday. Maybe I’ll just sit here in Café Nonsense and shoot arrows at the moon till January arrives and the dreadful, festive palsy abates.