Bah Humbug!

I shall be AWOL for a while as I lurk in the deepest bat cave I can find to avoid the stuff-yourself-silly and declare-yourself-bankrupt season.

In my persona as old-trout-on-the-beach one of my most favourite hates is the adverts that herald the arrival of the big event. In particular those that seep nostalgia  with mumsy laden like a pack mule with food and last-minute guilt presents wandering home staring up at a starlit sky as snow begins to fall and little children with rosy-noses play joyfully in the street throwing snowballs .  But their iniquities fade to nothing when put up against those  arty-farty perfume ads featuring guys with chiselled chins and soigné stubble and women with improbable pouty puff-adder lips. Do they really think that if we douse ourselves in eau de comeandshagme that we’ll all be walking bow-legged by New Year?

And the food and drink?  At my local supermarket I watch in awe as not one, not two but three trolleys, linked in a chain and stuffed way beyond the Plimsoll line, are manoeuvred and docked at the checkout. Have these people been on bread and water all year just so they can gorge at Christmas? Or is it pay-day loans all round?

As for me, well I have a love-hate relationship with food. But Christmas food? Oh no thanks; turkey’s boring, stuffing and sprouts turn me into a trumpeter royal and I loathe Christmas Pud having been scarred for life by THE Pud incident when I was an infant.

It was my kindergarten year and the whole class trooped into the school kitchen to watch Mrs Dixon making the Pud.  Each of us, in turn, was invited to approach the huge kitchen table and give the gloopy yellow mix, spotted with what to my simple mind looked like something out of my pet rabbit’s backside, a bit of a stir. Unfortunately quite a few of my classmates were smitten with snotty colds and the sight of Anne Throstlethwaite (name changed for libel purposes) sneezing over the pudding basin, stirring with one hand whilst wiping her nose with the back of the other created such an impression on my unfolding psyche that I have never been able to watch the march of the cannon-ball Pud to the table with anything other than revulsion.

I’m sorry to sound like such a grouch.  I know there are some of you out there – people of faith- for whom Christmas has real meaning and I can respect that. Others seem to embrace the spirit of Christmas sans religion and bring a certain joie de vivre to the season and yet others just embrace the spirits. Whatever your preference, for those of you who read this blog (yes, you three, I know who you are) I just want to wish you Happy Festivities whatever you are doing. For those who don’t read this blog…well there’s no point in making a witty if somewhat cutting remark is there?

Have fun (no I don’t need the gory details) and I’ll be back in the New Year.