Since I’ve retired, I’ve often found myself asking — usually out loud and to no one in particular — “What day is it?” Without the familiar rhythm of a school timetable, the days have a funny way of blending into each other. But this week, my confusion hit a whole new level.
On Tuesday, I was stretched out on a sun lounger, basking in 27 degrees of glorious heat, feeling smug and summery.
Fast forward to Friday, and I was knee-deep in pumpkins, ghosts, and ghouls, fully embracing Hallowe’en.
Then this morning, I turned on the TV and was assaulted — yes, assaulted — by a wave of Christmas ads. Christmas! What in the name of all that’s holy happened?
Mary has barely had time to tell Joseph she’s pregnant, yet the supermarkets are already rolling out the mince pies. Have I time-travelled? In the space of five days, I’ve apparently lived through summer, autumn, and winter.
I’m old enough to remember when Christmas officially began only when Larry Gogan played the first festive song on December 1st. That was the signal. Then — and only then — did the madness begin. Now it seems we’re hurtling straight from sunscreen to Santa without even stopping for breath.
Honestly, can we not just slow down? Enjoy the moment we’re in? At this rate, I fully expect to see Easter eggs beside the turkey before the week is out.
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