Blue Christmas

Good stuff…

Katie Jones

Is it possible to be ‘over’ Christmas? Have the songs that have been your seasonal soundtrack since the 70s turned stale? Does the prospect of evening after evening of festivities leave a bad taste in your mouth? Has your tree lost its twinkle?

This was me about four years ago. After nearly 40 years of riding the Christmas wave of tinsel and tequila I was done.

In the beginning, December had been the most exciting month imaginable – the multicoloured lights, old-fashioned glass ornaments and plastic sacks at my Nan and Grandad’s embodying a truly magical time of year.

Later came the tradition of hitting the pub with school friends on Christmas Eve – still going to bed buzzing at the thought of what was waiting under the tree.

And then children of our own – a chance to pick the best bits of our own childhoods and try out…

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Being A Girl: A Brief Personal History of Violence

Makes me want to grab the rest of my gender by the lapels and scream in their collective faces.

The Belle Jar


I am six. My babysitter’s son, who is five but a whole head taller than me, likes to show me his penis. He does it when his mother isn’t looking. One time when I tell him not to, he holds me down and puts penis on my arm. I bite his shoulder, hard. He starts crying, pulls up his pants and runs upstairs to tell his mother that I bit him. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone about the penis part, so they all just think I bit him for no reason.

I get in trouble first at the babysitter’s house, then later at home.

The next time the babysitter’s son tries to show me his penis, I don’t fight back because I don’t want to get in trouble.

One day I tell the babysitter what her son does, she tells me that he’s just a little boy, he doesn’t know…

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