A Wean In A Manger

Well, I'm nearly Yuleready. Presents for everyone, little stocking filler extra bits and surprises, inconvenient near-xmas birthdays sorted. Pretty dress for Christmas day (vintage 1970s Jean Muir little black dress, sweetie), pretty accessories for same, nice shimmery makeup. Nice wellies, warm jumpers, attractive scarf, snowball proof gloves & fabulous hat for going for walks in the country and hopefully rolling in the snow with husband too. New suitcase on wheels to put the presents and clothes in.
I've got the days off I wanted, train tickets with seats booked for the nearest time to xmas day when Waterloo won't be a bear pit (half one on Thursday afternoon), I've got an open return so I don't have to rush back. I've got the promise of a three bird roast for xmas dinner (that's a partridge stuffed in a pheasant stuffed in a goose), I've got myself volunteered to make Coquille Saint Jaques for starter on boxing day. I've got a fair idea that my father has purchased enough and strong enough alcohol to both float and dissolve a battleship.
At home I have inserted festive cheer by means of a little fibre optic maribou tree (similar to the one in the picture, except mine has five pointed stars as well as bunches of fibres, and on mine the lights change colour. Hijack our symbols would you? Well I'm just gonna hijack 'em right back harder.) and a set of antlers and a red nose on one of my cows. And of course my precious, my Yule present, my new life sized fibre glass baby cow. Cows are very festive. My favorite bit of The Christmas Story is the bit where Joyce Grenfell says "Oh you're a cattle are you? And you're going to low! Well that is lovely!".
It puts me in mind of what Billy Connelly said about thinking the words to the carol were "A wean in a manger...", and his friend thinking the hymn was "Gladly the cross-eyed bear". Sometimes it works the other way, too. Being middle class, I always thought you pronounced Margate 'Mar-gate', but since I bought Chas'n'Dave Live At Cesar's Palace Luton I've discovered it's 'Marg't', you know, like 'Highg't'? I've always had this problem myself. It was years until I realised (what with that guy's big Scottish accent making it hard to hear the words properly) that 'Donald, where's yer troosers?' was about a bloke in a kilt, as opposed to someone who'd just forgotten to put his trousers on... Mind you, I used to think it was "Wombles of Wimbledon, common are we", because they lived in a house made of rubbish. Now I'm older, I know better. They were eco-friendly recycling types, so upper-middle. They're probably having the four bird roast for their xmas dinner.
So, all I have to do now is sort out everything at work, take my sister shopping for her present before she heads for the country, buy a few packs of new socks etc to stop my mother squeeking at the state of my husband's footwear, get a suitable box for and wrap and post my dad's birthday present, wrap and post my grandma and grandad's Christmas presents, write and post my cards, make sure all the clothes we want to take with us are washed, wrap the remaining presents, clean the flat, find my railcard, do all the girly de-fuzzing and nail painting and exfoliating (I could swear I don't have any leaves, but you can never be too careful), pack..... Oh fuck, I'm really not ready at all, am I?