It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas #2,312
23 December 2008
Day Something of the Christmas holiday. The days are all blending seamlessly into one. A hideous melange of hyper kids, awful music, crowds of desperate shoppers and continuous loops of Wham! and Macca and Alvin & The Chipmunks. Holy Crap! New plan. When I’m King, I’m going to change Christmas into a World Cup type of affair. Once every four years. And when it comes, it’ll start on the 24th December, and finish at Epiphany, and we can all be done with it and for the next four years there won’t be a Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria to be heard.
Sales of mince pies will still be allowed, but pictures of mince pies on the box with a bite taken out the pie and Serving Suggestion written underneath will be banned.
I was sitting in traffic yesterday for a long time, One of Two beside me, on our way to buy a present for Two of Two. Just the two of us. Usually sitting in traffic is Bad, but yesterday it was fine, because it meant we got to control the music. Well, for the first hour, One of Two controlled the music. We had to listen to Pop Princesses over and over, a selected few tracks. Horrible, but light relief from virgin godheads and all that stuff. Finally I cracked, took control of of my own musical destiny and put Dylan on. One of Two grumped a bit, but she was playing a game on my phone so didn’t really seem to pay any attention. We sat in silence for the next fifteen minutes, inching forward amidst the cars. Not a word, not a peep. It wasn’t the Night Before Christmas, but it was as quiet as the house in The Night Before Christmas. Except for Bob. And all the traffic outside. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. One of Two was engrossed in her game. The rain fell silently and mournfully against the window, the grey skies darkened as the grim afternoon rushed its way towards a very early evening. Bob was drawling his way through Cross The Green Mountain. He sang the line: I look into the eyes of my merciful friend, and I ask myself, is this the end? Then the wee sarcastic voice chirps up from the passenger seat, ‘Obviously not...’ and put her head back down for the duration.
If I‘d been travelling at faster than 0.0000001mph I might have crashed. Kids: A pain in the backside, but occasionally they make you laugh.
[The story The Night Santa Got The Blues has now been posted on the website. If I was in charge of marketing I’d say it was a modern day Christmas classic.]