It’s a thing is this “Christmas” thing: sometimes a good thing like being together and enjoying Morecambe and Wise again and sometimes a bad thing. Lights outside houses creating a competitive edge, 27 gazillion turkeys cut down in their prime, little plastic robin-redbreasts planted about the place and the inevitable present faux-pas.
The sulkiness of Chardonnay as she reveals her shiny new communication device and screams “I wanted a white one, I hate you all” is all too frequent. Less frequent but equally misery inducing is the slap around the chops for that young man from Marketing who gets too friendly, under the influence Officer. He’ll get another slap from the Missus later and maybe a few from her brothers. Bright red spangly dresses are nice but don’t touch.
Not so nice are flashing ties and musical socks and those skimpy undergarments that look like reindeers and a profusion of young chaps, in beer, wearing hats and gaudy pullovers and leaving unpleasant gifts for tomorrow’s street cleaners. But tomorrow and the day after are Bank Holidays so there are no street cleaners and the unpleasant gifts remain meaning those shiny new tricycles are forced to negotiate pools as they wend their way to Grandma’s for dinner. If only people were happy with shiny new tricycles. No, that nice young man from Marketing who, as we speak, is at present enjoying his Christmas Lunch through a feeding tube, has done his work well. The bright, shiny adverts have worked their magic and children of all ages are demanding the latest new creation or else they will hate you forever. Oh for the joy of a satsuma.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Mum’s on the wine and the dinner is going to the dogs, Dad’s on the Gold-watch and is going to sleep, the kids are on sugar overload and are going all over the place and the neighbours are having a fight because Chardonnay is a mardy little wotsit and does she know how much that cost. She does, down to the very last penny.
So will the Debt Advisors on January 2nd. Yes, it’s a thing is this “Christmas” thing.
And the girl in the red spangly dress? Sobbing. Her young man was in beer and tequila and Gold-watch and any other number of sneck-lifters, forced his affections on her. Stinkingly. She wanted support, he wanted his way. Stick to Morecambe and Wise, it’s far more healthy.