Category Archives: Christmas

All I Want For Christmas…

I was helping the Child Units with their letters to Santa today and an interesting question popped up.

“Can we ask for anything we want?”

Well, of course. It’s Santa. You might not get everything you ask for, but you’re allowed to put anything you like in a letter.

Child Unit 2 asked for everyone in the world to have a Merry Christmas and Child Unit 1 asked for her brother to not be poorly (last year he was a snot, sick and shite machine) and for Santa to get some rest on Boxing Day. This is one hundred percent, gospel truth. They’re sweethearts, bless them.

Of course, they also eached asked for a Nintendo 2DS XL and as they’re my offspring, there’s every possibility that these lofty sentiments were a bid to curry favour, but even so I was touched. Touched and inspired.

This year, i’m writing my own letter to Santa, the first for several years. I thought i’d let you all see a copy:

Dear Santa

Let’s not fuck about, Kris. You and I both know that i’m no saint but I always try to direct my boundless reserves of rage and loathing toward those who do the world ill and I think  I deserve a few bonus points, so perhaps you could nudge me over to the nice list? 

You may take umbrage, but I know there’s precedent for this. Last year the Child Units destroyed a wide range of toys and household items and i’m pretty sure one of them is leaking government secrets to a Chinese spy but you gave them a pass and dropped off a whole bunch of nonsense, so I reckon I ought to be able to pop in a request or three?

Of course, you’re welcome to bypass me entirely but you should be warned that an empty stocking for me means a full inbox for every tabloid reporter come December 26th. The whole world knows you were caught kissing Mummy underneath the mistletoe but they’ve not seen where the mistletoe was hanging, have they? Yes, I have pictures.

So, let’s put all that crap aside and just assume that i’m waking up to a whole bunch of pressies, yeah? Yeah. On to my list.

Come Christmas morning, this is what I want:

1) I want a huge vault of gold coins into which I can dive headfirst and swim about. Obviously, like toys and batteries, I need this to come with a free “suspension of physics” pack so said diving won’t result in a broken everything.

2) I would like Donald Trump to be cursed by whatever demons you can summon so that everytime he writes a Tweet, he shits himself. If we have to deal with regular torrents of his crap, so does he.

3) Talkboy. You know, from Home Alone 2? They’re awesome.

4) I only want to hear the word “lush” being used by someone who is either describing luxuriant vegetation, pointing out a gin soaked old rummy or asking where to find a shop that sells bath salts strong enough to melt steel beams.

5) Obscene amounts of cake

6) Halo 6. Make it happen.

7) I want the power to render people unconscious using just the power of my mind, should I hear them whining about Christmas coming too early. Also, if they moan about the Coca-Cola truck. OH! Also to be used on anyone who says Die Hard isn’t a Christmas film. Best just make it a broad spectrum psychic chloroform deal

8) Would be nice if you could do something about all the bastards? 

9) Get Eureka renewed. 

10) And Warehouse 13

11) And Numb3rs

12) Cancel Game of Thrones.

13) Mostly, you could leave of all the other stuff above if you could do one thing for me? Make people a bit nicer to each other? I feel like the world could use a lot more smiling and laughing and talking and a lot less sexual harassment and abuse and bullying, don’t you? 

I’d happily give up all the stuff above and anything else that anyone else wanted to get me, if you could do something about the sadness.

If you could encourage people with mental health issues to open up more and get the help they need and make sure that said help is there WHEN they need it.

If you could force people to debate instead of argue and maybe stick a muzzle on the idiots who don’t want to debate because it’s a waste of good shouting time.

If you could perhaps lay off the visions of sugar plums for a night and inject a little dream serum into the world leaders, filling their heads with visions of peace and co-operation and the realisation that whatever one’s race, sexual orientation, gender, fucking shoe size or whatever, we’re all just people. Just people, whirling about on a ball of dirt and water which will eventually blow up or freeze or whatever and all of this crap will have been futile, so why not get along in the meantime?

If you could do something about all that then maybe we could all have a merry Christmas or a happy Hanukkah or a joyous Kwanzaa or whatever else you celebrate or don’t celebrate or what-have-you. The important part really is the merry, the happy and the joyous, isn’t it?

That’d be nice.

14) Or cancel the lot and get me an Xbox One X and a massive telly.

Looking forward to Christmas morning. I’ll leave out a bottle of malt and a couple rounds of toast.

Kisses or amen or whatever,
Al.

Fingers crossed, folks!

Merry F@#&ing Christmas!

It’s the 1st of December, folks and you know what that means. The countdown has officially begun!

Having said that, my countdown started a wee while ago. We put the tree up last weekend, we went to an incredible, local Christmas market, we’ve worked our way through the first few DVDs on the Christmas movie shelf (oh yes, I have a whole shelf) and we’ve eaten that many mince pies that my last shite was shortcrust.

Of course, I understand that some of you aren’t quite as nutty about  Noël as I am. You’re tired of the over-commercialisation, you’re exhausted by the stresses and strains of preparing for the big, family celebration or you’re just allergic to dates. That’s fair enough. You know what’s NOT fair enough? Telling me not to enjoy Christmas because you’re a miserable bastard.

Actually, no. It’s fine. Moan and piss and whine and whinge all you like. If that’s part of your holiday tradition, then fill your boots, i’ll stick to warming my chestnuts in front of the Birchwood Log Fire on Netflix.

1f63a7

All I ask is that when I tell you that I love Christmas, that i’ve been looking forward to it all year and that given the current tattered mess that is my mind, I am really in need of some holly, jolly times, you have the decency to grudgingly mutter “each to their own” and go about your business of shitting all over someone else’s good times. Whatever, I guess.

I think what makes me sad is that sometimes it seems that people don’t enjoy Christmas because they’re doing it wrong, to be honest. Take this over-commercialised business, for example. We live in a consumer driven society and Christmas has, admittedly, become a big part of that. Doesn’t make it a bad thing though, does it? We all like stuff and at Christmas we can give and get stuff. Stuff is fun.

Doesn’t have to be that way, though. I was up until 5am for the past two nights hand drawing and colouring and cutting out 24 little Christmas parcels and 24 baubles. I wrote a bunch of fun activities on the parcels and little love notes and treats on the baubles, then I blu-taced them up on the wall for Marital Unit and the Child Units to discover this morning. Quick, easy advent calendar that would have Kirsty Allsop shitting herself with envy and it cost the price of four or five sheets of card.

We watch old Christmas movies, cuddle up on the couch and drink hot chocolate. We draw Christmas pictures together and put them up as a window display in the lounge. We drive through town to see all of the Christmas lights, not just the display put on by the town itself but the lights in the houses. It’s old fashioned fun and it’s like a soothing balm for the soul, assuming you believe that you’ve got one. I sold mine for a beer about 14 years ago, but if I hadn’t of done that, it would be soothed.

We do hit the shops, though. Marital Unit and I spent an entire day being pushed and shoved around a shopping centre a few weeks back, to hunt down gifts and grab little treats and oddities which make Christmas a bit more special. We’re not rolling in cash, but if we can spoil the kids a little, we will. We also work hard to make our children understand time spent with family is the best thing about Christmas and that whatever gift you get is wonderful, whether it’s an expensive gadget or a box of sweeties.

They believe it, too. Last year the kids got tablets from Santa. They were thrilled, of course. They were just as thrilled with getting a pair of fluffy, Rudolph socks each.

As for stress, yeah. Yup, can’t argue that. There’s tons to do, between shopping (again, if you do any) and cooking and cleaning and oh wait bugger me it’s not that different to any other day. Seriously, stress is always there, gnawing at you. That’s my life, anyway. It’s amazing though, that come Christmas morning when the Child Units see the crumbs left behind by Santa (sloppy eater, might leave out a bib this year) and we tuck into our traditional breakfast (croissants. What? I’m allowed SOME luxuries in life) and then yes, we open pressies…it’s worth it.  We laugh together, play with their toys, listen to Christmas songs while we get ready to go visit family and if theirs snow then you can bet your frozen ass that we’ll be building a snowman and we’ll take a nauseatingly adorable Christmas photo where we’re posing with him like he’s a real person.

Ah whatever, folks. I’m not arsed how you do or don’t do Christmas. I just hate to see people being miserable when it seems like they might enjoy themselves if they removed the industrial size stick from their puckered anus. Not my lookout, though. As Scrooge said, “keep Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine” and we’ll all get along like a snow-covered, country cottage on fire.

Merry fucking Christmas.

’twas the run up to Christmas

Bad Santa

’twas the run up to Christmas and, lo and behold,
thousands of folks trudging out in the cold.
Their hands and feet frozen, the wind in their eyes.
they scrambled to get to the last few Mince Pies

The slow and infirm were trampled in the scuffle
to get to the last box of cheap Belgian truffles
While countless poor souls were lost in the fight
for a bottle of wine, to toast Christmas night.

Suddenly, the crowd spun around with a yell
and charged all at once, like a pack out of Hell.
They bashed and they battered, they pushed and they shoved
For word had got out, “M&S!” “Sale on gloves!”

“My granny would love them”,”Forget her, their mine!”
“LET ME THROUGH, LET ME THROUGH!”,”OI! Back of the line!”
From my vantage point, by a display of ties,
I witnessed the horror with my very own eyes

As each shopper vied for a place in the queue
A little old lady hobbled into view.
I cried out a warning but alas, she heard not
and was trampled to naught but a small, greasy spot

Now dashing and darting, now punching and kicking
Biting and gouging, eye poking, ear flicking
I saw one woman wield a small boy, like a club
and I watched as the poor lad started to blub

So, ’twas a mercy, when she swung with such might
that he slipped from her hands and flew out of sight
(He was found, safe and sound, some thirteen days later
in a display of cardigans, near the escalator)

Without her weapon, she was soon overcome
By a tag teaming granny and stay-at-home mum
With a zimmer frame shot to the side of the head
and a kick to the ribs, they left her for dead

They fought tooth and nail over jackets and sweaters
to answer the wishes of loved ones Christmas letters
While, in the background, the Christmas muzak plays
the same track repeated for twenty-odd days.

Son against daughter, father against mother
they beat seven Jingle bells out of each other
charging through the store like stampeding cattle
soon, the shop Santa was drawn into the battle.

He leapt from his stage, with a blood curdling yell
and upon the crowd of naughty shop-goers he fell.
He had such broad shoulders, with arms like two trees
and a right hook which would bring a Clydesdale to it’s knees

A fearsome sight in his suit of bright red
he hoisted one old dear right over his head
and with a dark chuckle, brought her down through a stack
of cut price DVD’s, snapping her back.

At the sickening crunch, the shoppers took pause
such was the wrath of this store Santa Claus.
“YOU’VE ALL BEEN NAUGHTY AND NOW YOU’RE ON MY LIST!”
They could tell without doubt, Kris Kringle was pissed…

And so, boys and girls, the moral of our story
is to be kind to others, or face an ending most gory.
And I heard Santa roar, as I ran for my life
SOD IT, NEXT YEAR I’LL STAY HOME WITH THE WIFE

Merry Christmas everyone.