Who has time to read blogs on Christmas Day? Who has time to write them?
Who has the mental energy to read Gothic script, ffs?
Well, we’re having a quiet time at the Shadowplayhouse. The folks are dropping off some turkey and some presents.
Things Fiona got for Christmas:
Clinical depression
Acute anxiety
Flu
Chest infection
Things we both got: acute insomnia.
The good news is, I think the insomnia and flu have knocked out most of the parts of Fiona’s brain that are capable of depression, so her spirits are comparatively good, for a shambling zombie. I went four nights with no sleep and then finally got a few hours unconsciousness, so I’m basically fine and dandy apart from a tickly cough and my left eye, which has gone a bit Herbert Lom.
When it rains (at forty-five degrees and I don’t mean centigrade) it comes through the living room ceiling.
“I have a feeling this is going to be the best Christmas ever,” says Cary Grant to Carole Lombard as he battles pneumonia in a ratty hotel in IN NAME ONLY, and I feel the same way. My optimism is as hard to get rid of as my chesty cough.
Here’s a one-hundred-year-old Christmas movie. It’s quite something!
shadowplay 