Merry Hell

Shouldn't that be a very DRUNK Christmas? That being what we do best.

Elegance is asking a lot at the best of times, but the festive season is of course one where my inate grace takes a certain amount of damage. Key tasks for the season:

1. Avoid carol service.

2. Shop only for alcohol and cheese.

3. Smile nicely at all relatives, in-laws, tramps

4. Lie about how much you like presents- the greater the proximity of the giver, the more effort required, to prevent discord for next 12 months.

5. Remove connection to TV aerial. Watch only DVDs and videos set at the height of summer.

6. DO NOT SAY WHAT YOU ARE THINKING.

7. Drink

8. Add elegant quips, to cheer Rex

I can't speak for everyone else, but I will anyway. Yes, yes, pleasantries, pleasantries. A Happy Xmas to one and all.

Except me. Bomb Christmas, bomb its friends, bomb its neighbours, bomb its tinsel, it's figs, it's fucking nasally challenged reindeer, it's trees, its fucking hoity-toity carols, its rosy cheeked priests and vicars, its TV re-runs of Ronnie Barker doing something humourous in either jail or retail, its book tokens, underwear and cheap fucking tat, its promise of non-existant snow, its crackers, its meatless mince and someone getting a car in the chest in the soaps.

I can't fucking escape this orgy of pithy Christians and gannet-like capitalism. Woo-hoo one more Christmas. One more festival of bloodthirsty agendas.

So here's to the birth of Christ, the inquisition, the crusades, pro-lifers, God-sponsored homophobes and all else that followed the blessed virgin birth.

Here's to the secular traditions, the people spending beyond their means, selling out their futures in a desperate blep of credit, the nooses and nooses of suicides, the A&E staff beaten up by flailing drunks, the latest buzz-toys for screaming kids, the sluts in Santa hats vomiting red Reef onto the streets.

If this season does one thing it polarises our bland, biased, bullshit fraud of a society into an ultra concentrate of every reason we should bomb ourselves into the sea. Spare not the children, salt the earth, round up the ex-pats in climbs sunny and cold and burn them alive in Santa hats, Man U shirts and two hundred pound branded jeans. Let their last meal be a Big Mac washed down with an fcuk alcopop and let the last thing they see and hear be Will Young singing the national anthem over the burning rubble of shattered homeland.

Or buy that book token, sing that carol and eat that dry turkey until you fucking puke with seasonal cheer. Do whatever the fuck you want, prisoner. The choice is yours.

Merry Christmas from Lynskey.

Much as I love my dear Lynskey, I have to disagree with him here. I really like Christmas. I like the fact I can wear sparkly whirligigs on my head without fear of the nice men in white jackets coming. I like the tackiness, the smell of Christmas trees, singing carols, sparkly lights, the family get togethers, trying to guess what's wrapped up under the tree, pretending not to know what is in the chocolate orange shaped box until I open it.

Okay there are bits I hate. I hate the fact that Christmas nowadays seems to start in November, I hate that everyone seems to spend so much money, I hate shopping for presents when everywhere is so busy and I've no idea what to get anyone, the face that the supermarkets all sell out of bread and you end up with rubbishy Tescos own. I also hate the fact that blokey over there gets so annoyed with everything at Christmas.

I know that Christmas is for kids really, but as I can't afford any of them at the moment I'll just continue to act like a big kid myself.

So Merry Christmas to you all. And if you don't like Christmas, at least be grateful that it's some time off work (except for me anyway).

you'd be amazed how tiny christmas looks from up here. nothing much but lights and the chronic noise of tearing. ah, but the smell . . . it's like i'm sixty again and again, still have my toenail, and can shake my wand at whomever i please. i used to love that little pop-jingle-poof as they turned into swine. i wonder now if it hurt??

only when i oink.

It is often noted that Christmas comes but once a year. My grand uncle used to point this out quite often. He was not a brilliant man, but a good man nonetheless. He was an able reader of calendars.

I swing recklessly between Lynskey's and Celeste's point of view. At the moment, I am veering violently in Celeste's direction. If it were entirely up to my locomotor skills, collision would not be out of the question. I trust Celeste is nimble enough to spare us both.

OTOH, I admire a bullroarer, like Lynskey, his message. Roar on, sir! Good on you!

Rex, A very merry hell to you too, my good man.

Lynskey, does that mean you don't want your gift? It took me ages to get that Bey Blade.

Celeste, its not a chocolate orange its an antique rubix cube. I'm with you on the time off though.

On the subject of the Yule, two words homemade pate.

Well, we got through it. (At least I hope so - it's rather ominous that no-one seems to have posted to AAD since the 25th. But I know Rex is OK because he's kipping in my spare room even as I write.) Internal organs luxuriating in a warm bath of cholesterol, families all nailed back into their lead-lined coffins, and we're all swapping quack remedies for an overdose of Alka-Seltzer. Now what?

New bleeding Year, that's what.

Fuckin' liberties, that's what it is. Not complaining at all about the huge piss-up with one's friends - I tend to be fairly cool with piss-ups. It's what comes next. Mother, father and all the ancestors back to Noah of all hangovers (drinking champagne late at night on top of two gallons of assorted piss is the biggest alcoholic killer I know) and even when that's gone, a whole new bloody year with all its attendant horrors, which we didn't soddin' ask for and don't soddin' need.

Do we have to put up with this? Can't we Just Say No? Is it already too late to stave off 2003?

Grateful for the support of all Drunks for my great last-minute SAY NO TO THE NEW YEAR campaign which I'll probably be too blitzed and banjaxed to lead.

I don't like new years. They scare me.

I always cry at New Year. Perhaps I should not drink so much gin.

Perhaps you should simply drink more...

Tho I have to say that I'm with Bollard- the simple solution in the short term is to avoid the new year by careful use of the alcoholic stupor technique. If that fails, I recommend pulling the sheet up over your head and refusing to get out of bed.

New Year is a poor excuse for a public holiday. Where are the apple bobbing, chesnut roasting, palm tree waving traditions? I say we start a new tradition that everyone must dress in really big and hideous crow outfits and walk around seeking feed and stuff.

Ahh, the memories are returning. I love your humor!

Easy on the pics, eh, Sean.

ok, my Lynksey. They were merely a way of grabbing attention.

I meantto type "mr" not "my". Typing carelessly...

But in a way he's everybody's Lynskey.