Friday, 23 December 2016

It's a Cracker!

And Lo! a great star did shine in the East and the three wise men did travel to Bethlehem to pay homage to the new-born king. And all about, while shepherds watched their flocks by night the beasts of the field gathered about the manger, for there was no room at the Holiday Inn. Great gifts did the three kings bring, of gold and frankincense and myrrh, for which Mary and Joseph were grateful... at least for the gold. But they kept the other things anyway, for they were sore afraid and all that, but the choirs of angels cheered them right up, singing in exaltations... and scarves and big, Father Christmas jumpers.

And it came to pass that once in royal David’s city, where the holly and the ivy, when they were both full grown, did ring out the bells proclaiming great joy and peace for all mankind. And presents. Ah, the great spirit of Christmas; egg-nog, brandy, sloe gin... cameltoe and wine. A time of year when we get to spend a few days in the heavily subtextual company of people we don’t know particularly well... and if we’re honest, don’t even like all that much. Where would we be without family, we ask ourselves? Probably on a beach somewhere, snorting coke from the taut buttocks of a supermodel... but I digress.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all round the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Actually, back up a little... what’s that? A faint hint of a squeaky floorboard and the smell of soot heralds the entrance of a big, jolly-looking fellow in a red suit and carrying a large sack. He goes to each room in turn and such is the magic in the air that his sack, far from emptying, appears to get fuller with every visit. In go the presents from under the tree. In goes the family jewellery and in goes even half the contents of the overloaded refrigerator. As the sack got heavier his tread became weary and the merry gentleman decided he needed a god rest.

He took a seat in the kitchen where, on the side, a plate of mince pies and a glass of sherry were set out. Christmas, Dave mused, was such a welcoming time to go about the burglary business. If all went well he only had to come once a year and live off the proceeds the next twelve months. Maybe, he thought, just one more sherry... He woke with a start; a little girl was tugging at his sleeve and bidding him wake. “Are you Father Cwistmas?” she asked, in a lisp too cute to cwticise. Dave the burglar, his head still fuzzy from the ill-advised Christmas cheer nodded that he was. “Pwove it!” demanded the girl.

Dave was alarmed at the loudness of her voice and said “Hewwo there!” and “Ho ho ho!” but very quietly so as not to wake the house. “I brought you a dowwy,” he tried, but the girl’s lower lip stuck firmly out. “I don’t want a dolly!” Dave tried again “How about a Pwaystation?” Again the girl demurred “Maybe a Wego set?” She looked at him sternly, her little arms crossed, “A what?” Dave repeated, “A Wego set?” She said, “Did you mean Lego™?” Dave nodded. “You talk funny!” she accused. “Of course,” Dave replied, “I’m Father Christmas and I use the Christmas awphabet!” ... [pause for effect] ... “No L!” 

Merry Christmas you crayon-chewing, window-licking motherfuckers!