BAH HUMBUG

I’m sorry but I can no longer get into, understand, the Joys of the Christmas feel good factor. To me the innocence and anticipation of Christmas has been dragged into the commercial arena where it isn’t the thought behind the gift that counts but how much of your hard earned cash you spent on it.
Kids no longer rush off to bed early on Christmas Eve, hoping it will make Santa come quicker, they no longer eagerly await the surprises wrapped up in paper under the Christmas tree; the fact that they chose it from the Argos catalogue may have something to do with that. Kid’s noses are not pressed against cold windows hoping to get a glimpse of Santa and his reindeers flying past, they know that once Dad has snaffled the mince pie and drunk the sherry, which they blatantly left for Santa, then he’ll sneak up the stairs in his drunken stupor and dump the prezzies at the bottom of the bed.
Carol singers banging on your door and asking for dosh during the last week of November is another sign that things are no longer taken in the festive spirit, they’re just taken. Christmas Fayres now being called “Seasonal” just in case we upset some other religion, if it upsets you then sod-off we are a Christian Country that used to celebrate Christmas long before you came here.
Weeks before Christmas you could walk into your local and the atmosphere was thick of anticipation towards the coming event; now it’s just anticipation. The local butcher would have been taking orders weeks ago for the Christmas turkey; now you’ll probably see him in Tescos, like you, buying a turkey crown.
She who should be obeyed has already put up the Christmas tree, or should I say, taken it out of the box and assembled it, strung some new lights on it, the old ones having refused to work, thrown some tinsel at it and shoved a few crackers under it’s artificial branches. Standing back and admiring her work with a tear in her eye and a lump in her throat; get over it woman it’s artificial and the lights cost twice as much as they did eight years ago.
It’s all gone to pot; agreed there are still some who cling to the last vestiges of Christmas, hoping beyond hope that they can rescue the remnants of long lost sentiments but even they realise that it’s nothing like it was and that maybe next year they’ll bugger off to Spain until it’s all over.

Merry bloody Christmas everybody.