I finished work at 6pm and headed home, jumping on the PC to check my mail. No news, is good news and then I retired back to the lounge to watch some television with the rest of the family. After some food and Eastenders, I switched on my PC, but disappeared upstairs to to update the TomTom on the family desktop (which now lives in my sisters’ room). When I returned to my bedroom, I discovered my desktop stuck on the Windows XP splash screen. Not a good sign. I tried a few things but was too tired and did not have the patience to do some heavy troubleshooting, so I just switched to the laptop. The sound was not working for some reason so there was no chance of catching anything on iPlayer. It felt like my curse with technology had struck again, almost exactly a year to the day since my last major down time.
It was back to work on Monday morning, but I had Tuesday off (for Christmas shopping) and then shifts every day of varying length up to and including Christmas Eve. What made my day was a little boy, perhaps aged eight. He was in a private school uniform, but I could not recognise the badge, but his older sister’s straw hat made it clear it was not a state school. He asked me if we had the “Wonderful World in colour”. I corrected the young man that the name of the movie was actually It’s A Wonderful Life and I would check the backup cupboard. I remember seeing a copy over the weekend. As I headed off he said to his mother, “Go Away Mum”, he was obviously getting the movie for his parent (or parents). I returned with the DVD to see his face brighten with a warm glow. In his hand he had two Laurel & Hardy DVDs, but as his Mum was paying (for her own gifts?) she said he had to choose between the Frank Capra classic or the comedy duo. He made the right choice and was a very grateful customer as I left to stock up more of the shelves. This magical Christmas moment reminded me a little of myself, I used to do similar things before I was earning a wage of my own. I am sure there is a saying that it takes you to see yourself before you can really appreciate who you have become. I miss my childhood, but I am unsure if I would like to wander back into Christmas 1989 anytime soon.