Unlike Christmas, Easter doesn’t come with a three month build up and this year there seems to be even less egg hype than usual. Maybe it’s the recession or that nobody really likes to celebrate a person getting nailed to a big wooden cross (and coming back to life of course) but Easter is decidedly low key. As far as I’m concerned, this has made the whole thing much more fun. God; how I loathe the build up to Christmas with its glittering fake happiness and prolonged festivities.
As a secular person I find Easter provides a great deal less disappointment. There is no pressure to pretend you’re delighted with a less than spectacular gift. You know exactly what you’re getting and if you don’t get a big egg made of chocolate with more chocolate in the form of a rabbit or a duck on the side then you have every right to complain. At Christmas, even if you’re given a luminous green jumper with a hairy vagina embroidered onto the front you have to smile and tell the colour-blind loved one that you will wear it every day. At Easter, on the other hand, if a friend presents you with anything other than chocolate, a carrot perhaps, then you can tell them exactly where to go.
“Fuck you.” You can say “I want chocolate.”
This Easter has been great. I decided to eat as much of my mum’s leg of lamb as I possibly could and in doing so, rendered myself immobile. My dad did the same, then decided to attempt some DIY in the bathroom which prompted a fit of uncontrollable vomiting. He now looks like he’s just died of the plague. My brother, Mist, is the talented sibling in my family. He managed to teach himself the piano in a year or two and now reluctantly plays for my grandparents whenever they come over. I’ll teach him to show me up! I would offer to display my talents but I don’t think Nana and Grandpa would be too impressed by my ability to touch my nose with my tongue.
Almost everyone was out of town this week. As a result I spent a good few days wanking and watching telly, sometimes both at the same time. I wasted hour after hour flicking through photos of other people having fun on facebook, which I have now realized, makes time pass more slowly. I also tried to hype myself up for the Oxford v Cambridge boat race. Unfortunately it dawned on me about fifteen minutes in that the reason the BBC make such a fuss of the race’s rich history is due to it being the dullest sport of the year. They had Sir Steve saying what a close fought contest it had been and interviews with some tired toff’s saying how happy/ upset they were but the whole thing left me underwhelmed. By the time the Cambridge crew decided to chuck the small guy in The Themes I was ready to pay for Sky Sports. I understand that it takes years of training but it has to be the single biggest anti-climax in the world of sport. This year was considered a close race and Cambridge won by over a length! That’s not close! A close race is a one hundred meter sprint decided by the shiny part of a man’s forehead in a photo finish. I dread to think how uninspiring a one sided race is.
I can’t wait for the Grand National. It may always be disappointing and full of horses*but it has all the key ingredients for fun; bright colours, danger, small Irish men riding wild animals and gambling.
*I don’t trust horses for a number of reasons but mostly because they have thicker necks than legs.
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