We’ve only completed two of the twelve days of Christmas but, honestly and truthfully, don’t you think that really it’s all over? Four out of the six people who slept at my house on Christmas Eve have already gone home even though we’re only a sixth of the way into it. Lightweights!
There are no special meals left to plan for or to look forward to and instead we’re reduced to eating the leftovers that lurk menacingly in the fridge as a legacy of the previous two days of debauchery. In fact I look upon this as a bit of a lowering of my standards as I don’t eat leftovers during the non-festive parts of the year so why should I eat them while we’re supposed to be feasting?
The shops are just as busy as they were this time last week but circumstances have changed. Suddenly they’re full of people who have already spent a small fortune on sprouts and sherry now trying to save a measly few quid in the sales on something else that they don’t really need, or who are complaining about things they’ve bought that they’re not happy with. Not the right colour or a button missing or not the right size even though the garment probably would have fitted them on the day it was bought but they’ve eaten so much plum pudding their bellies have become so hideously bloated that even the Parachute Regiment wouldn’t be able to find anything to fit them.
There are people everywhere whingeing and whining because they’ve had to go back to work. Christmas is over and they say they’re left with such an empty feeling, which is surprising really when you consider how much has gone down their greedy gullets since Tuesday. They must have had the mother of all Christmas poos on the way back to their places of work . . . something like Mr Hankey’s obese auntie, I reckon!
So now it’s my turn to say, ‘Bah humbug!’ There are still ten days of Christmas to go and I’m going to enjoy every single one of them as I watch the people who seem to live only for the festive feasting suffer. I suppose it must be like having post-holiday blues with a shovel of chronic indigestion thrown in at the same time. Ha ha!
What I can’t understand though is why we have to have a public holiday on 1st January. It would make so much sense to have it on 21st December which is the real New Year’s Day, speaking in terms of astronomy and time. It would make sense to have it on 27th December as it would be straight after the two other public holidays so we wouldn’t have to endure that state of limbo for almost a week in between and we could get the whole cracker-pulling kit and kaboodle out of the way in one fell swoop and get back to normal a bit sooner. It would make sense to have it on 5th January which is traditionally the twelfth day of Christmas. I think it must be the people who run the little stalls that sell calendars in shopping arcades during December that decide this for us. They have eleven months holiday a year so you’d think that in all that free time they would be able to sit down and plan the year a bit better than they do. If any of them are reading this, as well as sorting out the festive holiday organisational shambles, I’d like them to switch my birthday and St Patrick’s Day to the same nice sunny day in June please.
With those members of my family who had not, as soon as the final slice of Yule log had been guzzled, fled back to the place from whence they had come, I went to the cinema today to escape all this nonsense for a few hours. I watched a fillum called Philomena which was about an elderly Irish lady’s search to find her illegitimate son who had been taken away from her by Roman Catholic nuns when he was four years old because she had been so sinful. This was a desperately sad tale but not as sad as the people clutching their receipts in the queue at the Customer Services desk in Argos.
For our dinner this evening we had a sort of stir fried conglomerate of festive leftovers. It vaguely resembled a bubble and squeak based concoction tarted up a bit with cranberry sauce, turkey, pickled onions, After Eight mints, Pringles and shredded party hats. Did you know that there are over three hundred calories in a party popper?
Luckily I’ve still got a lot of this stuff left over too . . .
My lovely festive gifts bestowed upon me
by my lovely festive first and second born childer.