Bah Humbug.

When I opened up our online calendar this week and found the theme set as Bah Humbug, I must admit I felt a little saddened.

I know who this miser is. I know he will have relished the idea of making me, Mr Christmas (who has somehow been roped into a Santa role on Christmas Day) write something anti festive but I’m not going to do it.

Today opened on a negative. I had the humbug news, got to work (late) in the rain and promptly got the news a paper round needed covering. I’d no sooner started tutting at the headline “2000 ten year olds arrested”, which I would say excessive and mostly if not completely avoidable, when the hailstone came. This was not a great start to the day.

From nowhere, something changed. As I re-entered the shop a familiar tune rang out from the counter. Bells. A tin whistle. A credible Irish singer. That’s right readers, the Pogues were playing out- shamelessly spreading the Christmas spirit. For a while it didn’t matter that the Israelis were tearing up strips of Jerusalem, for a while it didn’t matter that England’s own green hills were being divided amongst the coalition’s various business associates. For three minutes Margaret Thatcher could have walked in there, iron lung on a trolley behind, and I’d have tried to do a bit of a jig.

I’m sorry Ash. The theme this week is Bah Humbug but with the tree up, the twinkling fairy lights and the film fest I’ve already started (4 and counting), you’ve got no chance. Instead, have a Christmas ditty.

Christmas Chores.

This Christmas, I'm dressing as Santa

I've been tied in, with no escape clause

I was told of the task by the other

She who must be obeyed, her indoors.

So I'll Ho Ho Ho in with a beard on

Spreading joy with the goods in my sack

I'm planning on not being rumbled

For I'd never hear the end of that.

So itchy or not I'll be wearing that suit

with a cushion for stuffing, polished black boots

the family are in, we're all playing cahoots

convincing me it's for the children.

Thanks for reading, Shaun.