And as for Christmas dinner, well, as a matter of health and safety (other people's) I've never cooked one...had I done so, there would have been three phases:
1) Serve food
2) Wash dishes
3) Bury the dead
Each far too labour intensive to be arsed with and, anyway, I need a new spade and a bigger garden.
Festive songs abound, which we merrily sing-along to at the family gathering as we joyously dance around granny sitting prostrate on her tinsel-bedecked commode in the living room (something we did when I was a kid, 'cos we couldn't afford a tree) but do we ever really listen to the lyrics?
Some can be quite menacing, especially if we remove the melody and talk in subdued tones with the lights dimmed, holding a torch beneath our chin.
With such a method in mind and the implications of 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town' explored, let's take a peek at a young mother tucking her little son, Tommy, up in bed one cold and wintry Christmas Eve:
"Now then, Tommy"
"Yes, mam?"
"Settle in, lad, I've something to tell you"
"Ok, mam"
"You'd better watch out"
"Eh? What d'ya mean, mam?"
"You'd better not cry!"
"What's happenin'?"
"You'd better not pout"
"Mam, you're scaring me"
"I'm telling you why! A big, fat stranger in a red suit with a thick, wiry, white beard, accompanied by several ruminants, is going to break into our house later on tonight".
"You what, mam! Why??"
"'Cos of YOU, lad!"
"Me! How does he know me??"
"He sees you when you're sleeping"
"And you knew about this??"
"He knows when you're awake"
"Is there a webcam in 'ere?"
"He knows if you've been bad. Or good!"
"I wanna ring childline"
"Just be good, for goodness sake! And he's bringing stuff with him"
"It's not an axe, is it mam???"
"Stuff like little tin horns and little toy drums...rooty toot toots and rummy tum tums"
"Mam, did you skip your meds again?"
"He's coming son. He's coming"
"I wanna sleep at grans house!"
"Hush, hush. Quiet now, I'm going to tell you a Fairytale. It's set in New York where....they've got cars big as bars...they've got rivers of gold..."
"Oh, mam, that sounds so magical! What's it all about?"
"It's about domestic violence, alcohol abuse, yer dad's criminal record and the realisation that my life is but a requiem playing its mournful melody in the graveyard of my rotting hopes an' dreams.
Merry Christmas, son, sleep well"
And a Very Merry Christmas and Joyous New Year to you too...my ever faithful reader....
Each far too labour intensive to be arsed with and, anyway, I need a new spade and a bigger garden.
Festive songs abound, which we merrily sing-along to at the family gathering as we joyously dance around granny sitting prostrate on her tinsel-bedecked commode in the living room (something we did when I was a kid, 'cos we couldn't afford a tree) but do we ever really listen to the lyrics?
Some can be quite menacing, especially if we remove the melody and talk in subdued tones with the lights dimmed, holding a torch beneath our chin.
With such a method in mind and the implications of 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town' explored, let's take a peek at a young mother tucking her little son, Tommy, up in bed one cold and wintry Christmas Eve:
"Now then, Tommy""Yes, mam?"
"Settle in, lad, I've something to tell you"
"Ok, mam"
"You'd better watch out"
"Eh? What d'ya mean, mam?"
"You'd better not cry!"
"What's happenin'?"
"You'd better not pout"
"Mam, you're scaring me"
"I'm telling you why! A big, fat stranger in a red suit with a thick, wiry, white beard, accompanied by several ruminants, is going to break into our house later on tonight".
"You what, mam! Why??"
"'Cos of YOU, lad!"
"Me! How does he know me??"
"He sees you when you're sleeping"
"And you knew about this??"
"He knows when you're awake"
"Is there a webcam in 'ere?"
"He knows if you've been bad. Or good!"
"I wanna ring childline"
"Just be good, for goodness sake! And he's bringing stuff with him"
"It's not an axe, is it mam???"
"Stuff like little tin horns and little toy drums...rooty toot toots and rummy tum tums"
"Mam, did you skip your meds again?"
"He's coming son. He's coming"
"I wanna sleep at grans house!"
"Hush, hush. Quiet now, I'm going to tell you a Fairytale. It's set in New York where....they've got cars big as bars...they've got rivers of gold..."
"Oh, mam, that sounds so magical! What's it all about?""It's about domestic violence, alcohol abuse, yer dad's criminal record and the realisation that my life is but a requiem playing its mournful melody in the graveyard of my rotting hopes an' dreams.
Merry Christmas, son, sleep well"
And a Very Merry Christmas and Joyous New Year to you too...my ever faithful reader....
© Copyright Lynn Gerrard
