Thursday, 16th December
Cold and cloudy?!?! That’s a bad combination. It makes me positively loathe the snowy season. Everyone is blindly happy, smiling and being cheery, la la la. But not me! Oh no, not me what so ever! I may have my tree up, presents bought and cards ready for delivery, but on this particularly chilly morning, I am not a happy bunny!
As I trudge towards the old school building, hating everything from the builders machinery (which is making a horrible whining noise) to my school bag, I spy the different patterned snowflakes hanging from the lower school windows. Why they look positively cute - if you’re a five year old! I giggle to myself. Though, I admit, the tinsel and Christmas trees around the school give the place a homely feel. Upon seeing a memento of Christmas, teachers, invariably, get bored of teaching, or feel guilty about setting home work on the last week of term. Suddenly, they declare, you’re watching a video, or playing Biology hang man on the electronic Smart boards. Decorations really aren’t a bad idea, actually, I think, stopping to shift bags from one hand to another. It’s very hard, carrying three bags. I nearly drop one, causing cards to fall out. I suddenly feel like throwing things against a wall - though I’m only violent in my imagination.
After trekking across the Artic wasteland that is our play ground, I climb two flights of stairs, and dump my bag on my desk. Saying a quick hello to the girls in there, then I make my way to the other classroom, to find friends in my year, who I can give presents to, thus lightening my Christmas load.
I’m in luck. I open the classroom door, and she’s there.
‘Mon amie!’ I cry, and settle down in the chair opposite her desk.
‘Hey’, she says, barely even looking up from her work. Suddenly, I’m feeling jovial and Santa- like,. I reach into my bag, and pull out a thin, misshapen present. Wrapped in red teddy bear paper, with two white bows, I gently place it on her desk.
‘What the hell…’. She eyes it, looking slightly suspicious, but grinning all the same. She knows I wouldn’t get her any thing dangerous.
‘Merry Christmas.’ She prods it, then opens it, unsure of the contents. But then she smiles, and I mean really smiles. Not a fake one, but a real one, like she’s happy. Which I hope she is.
‘A lizard!’ She cries. ‘Thanks.’ It may have only cost 50p, from a little boot fair in River, but when I saw it, nearly three weeks ago, I thought of her. Strange how your intuition can be right, can’t it? She reaches over, and hugs me across the desk, and I get a funny feeling in my stomach. No, not the painful jolt of unrequited love, but the familiar warmth of friendship. Ah. Maybe this is what they mean by ‘the spirit of Christmas’?
Merry Christmas Everyone!