Yo, ho, ho… Phooey!
What, I wonder, is wrong with remembering that Christmas is short for Christ’s Mass, and going to church? As if! I can go by myself if I like, but the family won’t come willingly. I can’t cope with the amount of bullying and bribery that would be needed. They think that going to boring old church would ruin the revels of avarice and gluttony.
Not that the gluttony is up to much. We just take our usual Sunday dinner, and replace the roast beef with the cheaper turkey that rather tastes of sawdust. And then we add the traditional Brussels sprouts that are unfit for human consumption. Don’t our taste buds warn us that Brussels sprouts are poisonous?
Then there is the horrid chore of Christmas shopping… Whisky (Scotch), whiskey (Irish), gin (London Dry), gin (Plymouth), rum (dark), rum (light), vodka, tequila, brandy, Advocaat, Baileys, Cointreau, beer, cider, wine… The shopping list goes on and on, and I’m sure to forget something.
I only bother with Christmas shopping for the sake of the children…