17 February - Christenings & Boring oldies

A Christening, otherwise known as family traditions we pay lip service to. Clearly it matters very much to at least one of the grannies but… you know, we’re in a beautiful Greek orthodox church and the three godparents have to declare they are Greek orthodox when in fact they’re not. The priest is not that interested in really ascertaining that they are. A few quick questions on form would reveal so (name a few saints, what’s their speciality (you know, travel, finding lost jewellery) where is the monastery of such and such? etc). But I guess fewer and fewer people care. If he truly had to only accept the real Greeks, we’d all have to leave.

Then we’re back to the house for buffet and cake and more cooing over christened baby who’s by now recovered from the trauma of being dunked in the font. Years from now she’ll be traumatised again when naked baby pictures will be shown around – again.
It’s a small gathering. Amazing how you can overhear your beloved repeat the same anecdotes he’s already used several times so far. You have to hope that it’s for the benefit of at least one person in the audience who hasn’t heard it all before, but you do worry if this is the beginning of the descent into old age (we’re in middle one already, I occasionally forget this) where people talk endlessly about their favourite topics and whinge about the same thing over and over, in his case the state of television today – clearly not something he can do anything about not being Lord Grade or chairman of CH4 or minister in charge. Clearly by the time you will get to our parents age, you know it’s settled, the repetition is endemic. In fact the first thing his father will ask any new person he meets, is if they are into football and whether they are or not, he’ll talk about Man United. It is something to indulge him in, and I do so.

There clearly is nothing to be gained by going out when you’re old. You will get stuck in your groove and that will be that. However, a gift is later presented to the christened child, which is some doll made entirely of knitted parts, ie. the body and the clothes. Grotesque and attractive in equal measure. The gift-giver says she got it from an old lady she knows who makes lots of these and she’s 99! I think I will take up a similar hobby. No talking, just knitting. I’ll have a piece of paper stuck to my chest with some message or warning ‘Hi, am old, I talk about same old/ same old, only start a conversation if you don’t mind repetitions’.

I have no choice but to enter into conversations with various new people as we'll be here for hours, and it’s a testament to my flexibility and never ending curiosity – yes sorry, I can self-congratulate, it’s my blog - that I can chat to a dental hygienist for ages and be excited when she tells me which brand of whitening toothpaste is best to buy and available at Boots. The day has not been wasted clearly if I can treasure this information.
At some point I try and hide in the room where some of the kids are playing and attempt to watch ‘Shark Tale’ undisturbed, it seems like fun. Unfortunately said kids exit the room and so I lose my cover. I stay there nevertheless but after a succession of adults come in and give me puzzled looks … I have to abandon the sofa and rejoin the conversations. Nice enough as they are.. am dying to go back to my house and do zilch. I wonder if I become part of some new family, these occasions will multiply and there’s a reason why Lisa’s relationship track record is a bit short on long term ones… I mean, the second or third Xmas together will be more rich in repetitions right? Unless all partners switch, re-marry, run off, bring new lovers home etc. Will I cope? Will I be one of the runners-offed?