I love rocking around the Christmas tree, decking the halls with more tinsel than is environmentally friendly, croaking out a quivery ‘Silent Night’, scoffing dozens of fattening mince pies or spending the equivalent of the Home Office budget buying lots of pressies for everyone.
There’s only one thing I hate about Christmas more than the crass retail commercialism and that’s writing the cards. I had hoped that increased postage costs or the advent of email technology might have resulted in the extinction of the Cardosaurus but much to my dismay, this creature still endures.
Is there not some half-starved urchin playing out in the street that I can bribe into writing mine? (What’s the going rate these days – fiver?) It appears not. They’re all glued to their phones or playstations in the cosy comfort of their floordrobe bedrooms. I’m just going to have to bite the figgy pudding bullet to scribble out all those insincerely meant festive platitudes that bring about as much cheer as having your boobs mangled in a mammogram machine.
As I struggle to find the Yuletide spirit (where did I hide that bottle of Southern Comfort?), I’ll leave you all to sing along to this year’s newest Christmas carol:
- The jolly and the skivy
- All those that live to moan
- Of all the peeps that are in the boat
- Some should have been sent home
- The rising of the taxes
- And the fleeing of the rich
- The playing of the smallest violin
- Keep smiling, life’s a bitch
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| Merry Christmas! |
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