I'm now a few days away from my 69th Christmas. Bah Humbug! There's fine cheese and wine* and optional body warmers for all OAPs but no heating allowance. I'm tempted by the impractical thought of heavy drinking*. The relentless winter festival of whatever meaning you choose to give it or whatever meaning you're happy to have imposed on you is finally with us all. It arrives every year, now smoothly delivered via the pumpkin coloured sphincter of a USA themed Halloween.
Jesus has a lot to answer for but his wildly bewildered followers have a whole lot more, mainly because it's nothing to do with him at all these days. So small doses of powerful, mind altering drugs seem very attractive at this joyful time of year, if only to dull the pain of cliche and fakery. Try not to think too much about the multiple war crimes taking place over in Palestine either, about 50 Km from Bethlehem. I'll just quietly pull on my charity shop pullover with the knitted Santa design set across the chest and loaf around sipping wine* and the like.
I am however partial to mindless Christmas movies if the necessary drugs are unavailable or remain illegal. There, comfy on the couch, watching my smiling virtual friends resolving trivial problems on Netflix and somehow stumbling upon the true meaning of Christmas (?) and in so doing the true meaning of life. In a fantasy season everything can be true for a little while. What's not to like? Let the festivities commence*.
*One thing to note: I find that the older I get the less I can eat and drink. It's quite useful to experience this part of my physical degradation at this time of year when we're all supposed to binge on endless party food.
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