Today I have Christmas presents to wrap. But I am a simple, hamfisted male whose fingers and hands do not permit him to perform delicate tasks and therefore I am devoid of even the faintest speck of present-wrapping ability.
By the way… Helloooooo!
Anyway, my attempts at present wrapping always start out brilliantly. The first two – or even three – folds are clinical; display a level of precision rarely seen outside of a draughtsman’s office.
But we (my fingers and I) soon reach a point from where it all goes downhill. Quickly. And gets out of control.
As fast as that time when, as an eight-year-old, I rode my newly-painted (Maroon? How did that happen?) pushbike down that bastard of a steep, steep hill (King Street, Blaenavon) and by the time I got to the big right-hander halfway down the hill I was way too fast to make the turn in to Broad Street and the brakes were insufficient so I just gripped tightly and smacked in to the 6′ brick wall on the corner and knocked myself unconscious for a few minutes. And wrote off the newly painted bike. Wow! Where did that dusty little memory come from?
Anyway, I can’t wrap presents in pretty much the same way that I just can’t plait a horse’s mane. But with the latter I pay someone with less-fat fingers and with substantially smaller hands to do the job for me. With the former I persevere and, as a result, will shyly produce, when required, a gift that looks as though it was started off well but finished up being wrapped by an infinite number of monkeys.
Because that’s my style.
In other news… As part of my 2009 goal to beat this insomnia dragon that sits and smoulders away on my shoulder I have started keeping a sleep diary. It might not amount to much but I’m determined to try and do something positive for myself in the course of the new year.
So hey, I’d better get on. I mean, it’s 09.45 and I have so much time to fill. Yes indeedy!