Not the "C" Word Please

No, no, no - not already.  The annual frenzy leading up to a certain event on the 25th of December is already kicking in.  I hate it, loathe it, despise it.  If I could spend C*****mas D** in a coma I'd willing pay Michael Jackson's doctor for the drugs.   

FECK OFF SANTA

"But how can you not like Christmas - it's for the children?" I am asked every year.  Listen, I've only one child.  She's unwrapped everything within half an hour, then eats a mountain of chocolate, doesn't like Brussel sprouts, roast potatoes or Christmas pudding so our Yuletide is over by about 10.30am.  I might splurge on a box of After Eights but that's as festive as we get.

There are a number of other reasons why I hate the run up to and including the 12 days of Christmas.  Number one:  it's cold.  I don't move about much in the cold.  I believe winter activity should be restricted to sitting on the sofa with a huge pan of Scouse on the stove watching Scrum V.  One should be not outdoors trudging around Brent Cross car park or wandering about a garden centre looking for a smelly tree that is going to moult over your rugs.

Fakery.  Why send a greetings card to someone you haven't seen for eight years expressing the desire that they don't experience a fatality or arson attack in the next fortnight?  And, you're only buying gifts for people because they are anticipating a gift from you.  You might as well gift-wrap a cabbage for each of them so they've got "something to open".

Christmas bollocks at work.  Stuff your Secret Santa and no, I am not going to the works' party because IT'S FULL OF PEOPLE FROM WORK.  If I want to spend my time talking to some dicksplash 20 year old salesperson I'll ring my local estate agent for a chat.

God/Jesus nonsense.  I was brought up in an Irish Catholic household and once had to play Herod in a nativity play.  That marked my retirement from organised religion.

Shite festive music on the radio.  As soon as John Lennon kicks in I switch off.  Feck off with your Plastic Ono band.  And someone shoot Noddy Holder while they're at it.

What to do about Mother.  This is an annual family game where my two siblings and I feign death about six weeks before the event so there is absolutely no discussion between us about "What Mother is Doing" in the hope that none of us gets landed with her.  It's worked for the last few years and I've learned to live with the guilt by completely blotting it all out.

The expense.  We've a disposable income which appears to be shrinking month on month.  But somehow the retail world thinks I have a bottomless pit of money to spend on food, alcohol, decorations, gifts, petrol, the Royal Mail, clothing, tableware...  I haven't Sainsbury, honestly.  An acquaintance of mine every year puts a thousand pound of debt on her credit card at Christmas and then spends 12 months paying it off - Loonbag.  Like I said, we have a splurge on some after dinner mints and I might get a bag of satsumas in.

Yeah, I know I'm a miserable git this time of the year but you get used to it.  Just don't mention the event to me and I'll be fine.  Just ask me what the Ospreys/Scarlets result was from last night was instead.