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Merry “!!£%$£”$£ Christmas

If you’re of the particularly quick and clever type, you might have already gathered that I dread this time of year with a passion.

Not only is it cold and about to get colder, not only are days shorter and about to get even shorter, but there’s also Christmas and the whole festive sharing, loving, hugging and really really bad singing that I have to deal with.

I usually go round revealing my dread to all and sundry. I moan and whine, I whinge and howl. This year however, I have been duly informed that under the newly passed ‘Adults Christmas Act 2012’ I’m obliged to smile through the whole season. I’m also told that this is especially important in the presence of children, even if said children are permanently hunched over something that vibrates, bleeps, toots and hoots.

Apparently, it’s also my ‘adult 2012’ responsibility to grin and bear uncomfortable heels, freezing toes, elderly flatulence at the dinner table, stuffed animal displays at lunch, and hard core Christians who look me straight in the eye and explain the Immaculate Conception all over again, and again, and again.

Every year, as soon as I unwrap my last birthday present, Christmas starts raising its nasty little head threatening to spoil my mood.  It starts with tacky ornaments on window sills and goes on with the sudden appearance of hundreds of white bearded figures stuck in a back breaking climbing positions; it continues with horrendously cheap statues strategically placed on roundabouts, and climaxes with dizzy shop windows choking in tinsel and fake snow.

Don’t get me wrong; I really don’t mind making the long cold winter a little bit cheery with some lights, some extra hugs and a lot of Eggnog, but when decorations start to swell up my retinas, and when the fake love makes me break out in hives, it gets a little bit too much to handle.

Oh! All right, all right…  I hear you already. Yes I’m your typical Christmas Grinch. I should be locked up and kept away at least until February, but the last time I broke out of my white jacket and painted the town red with Santa’s coat, so think again.

Anyway this year, because of the aforementioned Adult Act 2012, I’ve pledged to make a tad more of an effort. I hereby promise to be on my best behaviour, not to wince at the sound of jingly bells even when they are of catastrophic jingly proportions, not to groan at the sight of hobbling Santas, and my ears have promised not to bleed at the sound of festive melodies, but, be warned, if someone else tells me to put Christ back into Christmas I won’t be held responsible for my actions. I mean let’s face it, Christ was a Jew and not Christian and, He was very unlikely to have been born in December in the first place, so please spare me.

 

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