I’ve tried really hard to chat to you recently. It seems to me that you’ve got being busy confused with being necessary. I’ve given you some good words – better, even, than Donald Trump’s, although the day you match ‘unpresidented,’ I’ll make you a bestseller (note to self: speak sharply to manufacturing about proportion of free will to decency used in the Trump/Hopkins/Farage batch of clay). And well done you for giving those words to other people. But you were meant to listen to them yourself. I can see you behind that cloud of flour and ground ginger and icing sugar. You do know you can buy that stuff ready-made, right?
So on this, the 18th day of Advent, I’m watching you stumble about after two consecutive concerts and all that end of term stuff, preparing for the visit of your beloved sister, of whom you do not see enough. I know how much you love her; I know how innocent you both were of the things that drove you apart. I can see how important this visit is to you. To be honest, I’m very tempted to send down an angel or two to defend the poor girl from the pressure of your welcome. She’s not coming for your shepherd’s pie, you know, so you might as well calm down. And she really won’t mind whether the ice cream is home made or not. The real gift is in making her little dog so welcome that only I will know how hard you find it (what is it with you and dogs?) – and to be honest again (which is sort of what I do, although it’s not always popular), your children adore your sister’s dog. They’d adore your own dog if you’d get one. Again – what is it with you and dogs?
You’ve been running yourself ragged recently – oh how we all laughed up here when your husband joked that you looked as though you’d died two days ago but been too busy to actually lie down! Hahaha. I’d like you to know, though, that we’ve saved a seat for you at the live Prince concerts that run 24/7 up here, but don’t get excited, there are no immediate plans to have you occupy it. Sorry.
By the way, your cranberry sauce is burning.
And no, you haven’t sent a card to the people who sent you the one you’ve just opened, and the next door neighbours but one are going away tomorrow so you need to get on with it, and that one’s not a Christmas card, it’s a notice that the car needs to be taxed, and I don’t think you got round to doing the MOT, did you?
Of course they could all be more bloody helpful. That’s true of most of humanity. But it’s no good dreaming about breaking your leg and having a week or two off. Firstly, it’s not going to happen, and secondly, it would be a great deal easier if you just let some of this stuff go. There’s a word for people who go round telling other people to concentrate on what’s important whilst frazzling themselves into a stick about trifles, and it’s not ‘unpresidented.’
I’m watching you.
Love, God x