:: The Festive Nadir ::

...Thus spake Bezuhoff and forthwith
Appeared an atom bomb,
To fry the bastards in their beds
Ere Christmas came along.

Or something like that. It's nice to know that there are other people out there who share my scepticism for the enforced jollity at this time of year. That's not to say I disapprove of Christmas per se: I simply loathe the media hype and rabid consumerism which festoons the modern celebrations. Unswerving from controversy as ever, L Russe Bezuhoff called for a Weihnachtsendlösung in his most recent missive. After my last minute present shopping dash down Oxford Street yeaterday evening, I'm inclined to agree.

As I shall be leaving London shortly, this is likely to be the last of my regular posts for a couple of weeks. Whilst hanging with the olds and visiting the bright young things in New York, I shall endeavour to capture the spirit of the day in blog-post form; however, I make no promises. Grudgingly I therefore include a rundown of festive fun:

• You can tell the silly season has well and truly begun, as Ananova gleefully recounts the tale of a farty Tesco sprout tester. 5 kilos a week! I'll be lucky if I manage to force two of the things down my throat without gagging. Brussels sprouts are much maligned because of their tendency to become overcooked for Christmas Dinner. Budding chefs who would like to make something at least vaguely palatable from them should consult this handy selection of decent recipes. My personal favourites involve bacon and chestnuts.

• The Guardian has kicked off the traditional round of Review-Of-The-Year type articles with a selection of the year's funniest letters. Several made me chortle, but the one about Ms Dynamite made me laugh out loud - even on second reading.

• Accused of mean-spirited malice by many (by the looks of the guestbook at least), Cheesy Gifts 4 Teachers casts a critical eye on the seasonal offerings given to school staff by their little darlings. As old ma Devukha is a primary school teacher, I'm familiar with this seasonal round of grateful smiles and private grimaces. In fact, my mother and her colleagues often keep a league table of who has received the best gifts. Although I appreciate that the presents are usually well-intended, those on the guestbook who castigate the author for unkindness are over-reacting in the extreme. Yes, many of the items received are unutterably tacky and perhaps warrant the odd piss-take, but the number of comments like "this proves all teachers are heartless wankers" is unbelievable. Come back Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells, all is forgiven...

• And finally, if the family festivities are inescapable, bear this in mind. Scientists have worked out how to win at pulling crackers, so you can deprive all your little nieces and nephews of their plastic rings and paper hats.


Of course b3ta's eager contributors are unable to refrain from seasonal jollity. Their inevitable weekly photoshop competition involves making the ideal Christmas card. Although many of these are classics ("It's a girl"/"Fucksocks!" being a case in point), I was particularly tickled by the following from mozza. the prospect of Prince Phillip attempting to make jokes about the regions in irresistable:

Well, that's it then I suppose. I've had my fill of Christmas cheer, although the prospect of decanting and drinking the sloe gin tomorrow is warming my cockles already. One final thought - I wrote this poem when I was living in Russia four years ago. I think it's still applicable...

Humbug

Not dreaming of a “White Christmas”,
Just like the ones we never knew;
Where the tinsel glistens
And no-one listens
To the songs of hearts broken in two.

Just dreaming of a “festive season”
Without those tacky, tawdry, trite
Tunes whose anodyne pleasure
Puts us at leisure
To forget the true of others’ plight.