I don't do Christmas

What exactly does it mean when you don't do Christmas? That's what the man at the check out at Tescos asked me when i gave him that tert reply after doing just a regular shop on Christmas Eve."It means I don't buy into the hype." I said. "Ohh,"  He looked at me the same way I imagine married people look at single people at weddings.
As I walked up the hill towards home, pleased with my shop thank you,  I tried to remember exactly why I usually back out of  Christmas. The most obvious thing I could think of was all the hype which I find so annoyig. "Spend, spend, spend before your cash runs out." "Spend, spend, spend- even when your cash runs out and get into nice fat debt, debt, debt." And the fact that they don't even mention Jesus anymore. But hark a counter thought: 1) Who are they? and 2) Jesus wasn't born on Dec 25th anyway. We know this.

I  have the wonderful task of buying for books for a local youth hostel! I have a small budget so it is with sheer delightful I meander around the musty crammed shelves of second hand book shops as I hunt for treasures. plus there's that £2 book shop in Greenwich that have some wonderful, brand new books for a fraction of the cost. Wonderful. I purchased;
Dreams and what they mean
Everything you need to know about Spells and Charms
A long way gone; memoirs of a boy soldier
Waiting to Exhale (I know, I know- but hey!!)
Numerology
A Long Way Down
I know  why the caged bird sings- an old classic,
                                          Maniac &          
                                          The coldest winter ever. 
Not bad for a mere £35! I'm pretty darn pleased with myself. I toyed with the idea of keeping Spells and Charms- but I've  a similar one already, and have been gently opening the pages of A Long way gone; reading the exploits of  a boy soldier in Sierri Leonne at the outbreak of war. It's brilliant so far, and has to go on my own reading list.
This is how I love to spend my days. Books and paper and reading and words. Wonderful!

Poet

Last week I found an old poem that an ex-student had written. It was about an angry, educated kid, whose head was caught between street and smart. I must have said I liked to write, so this guy, James, bought some of his writing to show me.It was all this rhyming, effortless, angry poetry from this young guy. It was so good.

          I showed the poem to my sixteen year old son. "Mm,mm, that's not bad, still," he said nodding, as it did sound current, even over ten years later- (which is a shame really, as it means young people are still faced with the same issues and problems.)
We spoke about those days for a while, my son and I. The days when he was four and five and I used to drive him to his nice, private school before I went on to work. Those were the days when I had money- the days before I wanted to write full time!