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Sick Christmas

Sick Christmas

Ross Madison


What kind of horrible world do we live in? It’s one week before Christmas, I have the worst seasonal allergies of any human being on the planet, there’s a winter bug going round and I still have to go into school and finish my music coursework.

I find myself bearing strange similarities to famous Christmas icons today. I have the same aching, bloated feeling I imagine Santa would have after too many mince pies, and my nose is red, raw and shining from a combination of sneezing, blocked nasal passages and tough, grating tissues. Ultra-soft my rheumatic arse. I wonder if my music teacher will take pity on me, postpone my composition and evaluation and buy me a new nose for Christmas. The thought amuses me and I chuckle to myself, but this rapidly escalates into a coughing fit and I decide it’s best to push fantasies like that out of my mind.

I’m walking down the lane to the school now, every step I take emphasising my rheumatic condition. It feels as though the tarmac is made of superglue, as I have to wrench my feet up off the ground, sending shudders through my skeleton and convincing me that, at any moment now, my thigh muscles will tear open and my leg snap in two. Is this what arthritis is going to feel like? If so, I should probably enjoy my youthful agility while I can. Problem is, at the moment I feel about as youthful and agile as my grandma’s battered old mini, and equally rusty. Still, on the bright side, I suppose there’s nothing that can make today any worse.

Oh, wait! I’m an idiot! There is! They’ve got the Christmas Music Concert today! I wouldn’t mind that much, except I’ve seen the programme and certain details have stuck in my mind: “Susie Johnson – solo: ‘All I want for Christmas is you'”. “Glee Choir: ‘All I want for Christmas is you'”. “Jess Vaughn and Poppy Phillips – duet: ‘All I want for Christmas is you’.

Seriously? My least favourite song in the world performed three times? Does nobody in this school know any other Christmas songs? If not, couldn’t we scrap the concert and watch a classic Christmas movie instead? Like Die Hard? I painfully reach the front gates of the school and immediately get smacked on the side of the head by a muddy rugby ball. I resist a strong urge to go and sneeze on the guy who kicked it and make my holly jolly way over to my form room. Bah, humbug.



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