Santa Claus is coming to town

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Christmas comes but once a year, but bloody hell these years are getting shorter. It feels like I only took down last year’s Christmas tree 49 minutes ago.

I enjoy Christmas, but I’m not obsessive about it. I never put my tree up until at least the second weekend in December and I refuse to eat mince pies in November. If I’ve ever inadvertently consumed what appeared to be a mince pie before the twelth month, it most certainly will have actually been an Eccles cake.

My favourite part of Christmas is the food and drink spending time with family and friends and being grateful for the joy they bring to my life .

Sausages wrapped in bacon? Jeez Louise, it’s a porktastic pleasure (easy tiger) for a confirmed carnivore like me. Everything else is wrapped in pastry. Jus-Rol’s* profits must increase by 1200% in December.

*other pastry manufacturers are available.

At Christmas, you get to drink Bucks Fizz and Baileys, Snowballs and Eggnog. Christmas drinks must have maximum viscosity. If it can almost be eaten with a spoon, it fulfils the Yuletide beverage criteria.

I enjoy the fact that everything is a bit special and unusual at Christmas. On any other day of the year, if I walked into my mothers house at 9am, swigged down a glass of alcohol and helped myself to a handful of quality street she’d be simultaneously phoning Alcoholics Anonymous whilst googling “if my daughter eats chocolate for breakfast will she develop diabetes?” And yet at Christmas it’s magically okay. She’s force feeding me faster than you can say seasons greetings.

I love a pantomime, the annual tale of a boy who is actually a girl, who meets a girl who really is a girl but whose widowed mother is a man in a dress. Sounds like a typical Saturday night in Brighton.

I like the audience participation; the hissing and booing, the “Oh no he isn’t, oh yes he is” and “he’s behind you”. Yep, still sounds like a Saturday night in Brighton.

Here’s a question for you. What do you get if you cross Santa with a duck? A Christmas quacker! There’s a bonus Christmas cracker joke for you. Who doesn’t need to pull on the end of a toilet roll tube filled with highly unstable silver fulminate causing a small explosion in order to be rewarded with a tissue paper crown that your Nan always manages to put on upside down and a bright yellow plastic comb or a fortune telling fish?

Cheesy Christmas music is one of the signs that Christmas has arrived. Not when it starts playing in supermarkets though, because they’re wishing it could be Christmas everyday and mistletoe and wining it from early September. I mean Christmas songs on the radio. When Shane MacGowan and Kirsty McColl start to trade insults, you know the season of glad tidings has arrived. Nothing says Christmas like a good old fashioned slanging match. You’re a bum, you’re a punk, you’re an old slut on junk, you scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot…. Ahhh good times.

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