Dozy Writes

Hello December!

For many people, this month is all about Christmas. Debit and credit cards are getting flexed to their limits in pursuit of the perfect Christmas.

I am one of those annoying people whose birthday is in December. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it’s only a few days before Christmas which makes everything especially awkward.

Birthday parties were always a nightmare, it’s almost impossible to fit them into the hectic social schedule that December brings. 

As a result of this, I don’t have many memories of my birthday celebrations but one particular year springs to mind.

An unusual birthday

It was 1984 and I was obsessed with Barbie dolls. So much so, that I was a member of the Barbie Club.

I don’t remember many of the benefits that being a member of the Barbie club brought, but one of the highlights was the provision of a birthday pack which included invitations and decorations to host a Barbie themed birthday party.

After consulting with my mam, I duly issued the pink and white invitations. On the day of my party, my pals turned up with their Barbie dolls dressed up in party wear. We were all excited to see what the celebration would entail as none of us had ever been to, or hosted, a Barbie party before.

We began by following the genteel activities suggested by Mattel: having a Barbie fashion show; swapping Barbie clothes; and other banal nonsense.

Mattel had clearly never met eight-year-old girls from the Highlands. We were quite spirited children so it wasn’t long before we started creating our own activities.

The first of these was Tug of War but using the dolls as the rope – it turns out that their heads come off really easily and it wasn’t long before there was a selection of decapitated Barbie dolls lying at our feet.

Our next party game idea involved placing a Barbie doll on the road to see if a car would run over it. I don’t recall whose Barbie doll was sacrificed for this disturbing escapade but I can reassure you that no Barbie dolls were harmed – mainly because I lived in the country and there were only about three cars using the road.

Let’s do each other’s hair!

Still full of energy and needing a new activity, we turned our attention to my Barbie hair braider and attempted to use it on each other’s hair.

So far, so Barbie. 

Unfortunately, the hair braider was rubbish. It didn’t twist our hair in the way we had seen in the adverts, possibly because our 1980s pageboy hairstyles weren’t really suitable.

Ever inventive, we started a new game where we attacked each other’s heads with the hair braider searching for head lice, or nits as we liked to refer to them. 

This may seem like a random thing to do but during the 1980s, it was common for a nurse to visit the school to check the vision and hearing of all pupils. She also had to check everyone for head lice meaning that she naturally became known as the Nit Nurse. 

None of us had ever had head lice but we all had a strange fascination with the process so it was natural for us to want to emulate it. I would like to clarify that, as far as I’m aware, the Nit Nurse never used a Barbie hair braider when checking for head lice.

So there we were, sitting in my bedroom, wielding a bright pink contraption emblazoned with the Barbie logo, and pinching it over each other’s scalps with glee as we searched for nits. My head is itching as I write this.

Whilst each of us waited for our turn to look for nits we would listen to the most recent Hits Tape on my brand new Walkman – for the younger readers, this was a portable cassette player. I didn’t get a ghetto blaster for another two years so we had to make do with sharing the headphones.

We sang and danced along to Wham and Billy Ocean until it was time for everyone to go home. Parents arrived to collect their charges, curious as to why our hair was matted and standing upright.

I assume that I must have had birthday parties after this one but I don’t recall any of them.

Let’s be honest, it was always going to be tough to top a Nit Nurse party.

And then it was Christmas

There was barely time to recover from my birthday celebrations before it was Christmas.

Sometimes my birthday celebrations coincided with a school or work Christmas party in which case I would milk the occasion to get as much goodwill as I could.

Occasionally, this backfired, particularly when it involved alcohol because everyone wanted to buy me a drink for my birthday. In theory, this was great, but in practice there would end up being so many drinks that it should have been impossible to drink them all – I always made a good stab at it.

Maybe that’s why I don’t remember many birthday parties, all that Babycham when you’re only ten years old is tough to handle. I’m joking. I was at least eleven.

Lots of presents

Everyone used to think I was so lucky to get two lots of presents in quick succession but that wasn’t always the case because I was often a recipient of the ‘combined present’.

‘We got you this gift – it’s for your birthday and Christmas!’ a relative would say excitedly, not realising that no matter how much they’d spent, a child would always prefer two individual presents.

I quickly realised that I should be grateful to receive anything but I occasionally longed for a summer birthday to make the distinction clear. 

Nowadays, I don’t bother with gifts. My stripped back lifestyle isn’t in keeping with having space to keep lots of items and my stripped back income isn’t really in keeping with buying lots of gifts.

It wasn’t just my change in lifestyle that prompted the stopping of gift giving. I was feeling this way for a while before, particularly when I realised that every year, my loved ones and I were just swapping vouchers or unnecessary presents. 

Pointless gifts

I was in a popular discount store recently in the UK. It’s one of those stores that looks really cheap but is actually more expensive than you think.

I was wandering around looking for something in the kitchen aisle when I found myself standing in front of one of the most ridiculous items I’ve seen. 

An electric omelette maker. 

Seriously? I thought that everyone already had an omelette maker in their house – more commonly known as a frying pan.

This is the kind of thing that’s marketed to those of us who are desperate to buy a gift for someone who doesn’t really need anything. We end up feeling despondent until we remember that they once mentioned how much they enjoy an omelette. 

Aha, we’ll get them an omelette maker! 

The recipient will use it once or twice and then, fed up with having to clean this awkward appliance, they’ll put it to the side.

The only problem is where to put it. The discarded omelette maker will have to jostle for position with the microwave, the air fryer, the slow cooker, the coffee machine, the George Foreman grill, the old school sandwich maker, the crepe maker, the donut maker, the waffle maker, the Nutribullet, the stick blender, the food processor, the stand mixer, the chocolate fondue set, the chocolate fountain, the popcorn maker, and the ice cream maker. 

Meanwhile, the kettle and toaster tut in disgust at these newcomers, and the cooker sits silently seething.

Standing in the discount store, I wondered just how many of these omelette makers would eventually appear under the tree on Christmas Day. And then I wondered how quickly they would be regifted or discarded.

Christmas memories

Apart from the odd item – the aforementioned ghetto blaster, a Barbie campervan and a shopper bicycle – I don’t remember many of the Christmas gifts I received over the years. 

I do, however, remember the fun times I spent with my family and my pals. Those memories are more important to me.

Except for the ghetto blaster which allowed my pal and I could make up dances to Bananarama songs without having to listen to our individual Walkmans – coordinating the timing with two Walkmans was a nightmare.

I also recall some festive seasons when I wasn’t having so much fun or when I felt that I should be enjoying myself more than I was. 

Fortunately, over the years, I have been able to put it into perspective and see that it is just one day. I don’t need to allow myself to be pressured to enjoy myself or to spend the day in a certain way. 

Christmas after a break-up

This became apparent for me on the first Christmas after I split up with my first husband. My brother had come up to the Highlands with his family and they were staying with my dad. 

We spent Christmas Eve together and I remember getting ready to go home and both my dad and my brother urging me to stay, worried that I would feel alone. It was only two years after my mam died so Christmas was still a bit raw for us all.

I knew they were concerned for me but I had a strong desire to have Christmas morning to myself. I would be spending the rest of the day with them all but I felt that I needed to face up to life as a single person and prove to myself that my life wasn’t over just because I was getting divorced.

Christmas morning arrived and I lounged around in my pyjamas eating Flumps for breakfast whilst watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang for the hundredth time.

It turned out to be a really nice morning, mainly because I decided I was going to enjoy being by myself and do some little things that made me happy. I’ve tried to channel this mindset ever since. 

I appreciate that it’s not always possible to choose our circumstances but it’s worth remembering that we always have a choice in how we respond to a situation. Counting our blessings and appreciating the good things in our lives can help us to keep things in perspective.

Of course, sometimes we just need to cry or stamp our feet in frustration and that can be a great release too, especially if it allows us to move forwards.

Whatever you are doing over the festive period, I wish you all the very best, and if things are tough for you, I hope you can take comfort in the following quote:

‘Every storm runs out of rain, just like every dark night turns into day.’

– Gary Allen