Following Robin Ince’s fine Rant is Bennett Arron, who, while being totally down with Christmas, is livid with its pauper cousins like fireworks night and New Year’s Eve. Just light the touch paper and stand well back…
I do enjoy Christmas time; the excitement of finding out which unknown celebrity is going to switch on the town’s lights, which bookies are going to lose the most if it snows on Christmas day and whether the shops you go into will be playing Merry Christmas Everybody, Do They Know It’s Christmas or I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day.
By the way, I’ve always thought that playing Do They Know It’s Christmas (Feed The World) while you’re in a supermarket piling up your trolley with a selection of tasty festive treats is a touch insensitive. Not that it stops people of course. In fact after hearing the line: “The only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears,” I actually heard someone say: “Oh that reminds me, I have to buy soda water and bitter lemon.”
Another good thing about Christmas time is that halloween and bonfire night are well behind us for another year.
Why we celebrate the Eve of All Hallows in such a huge Americanised way is beyond me. I mean, why should I hand over my hard-earned sweets to a group of kids who have simply stuck their heads through a hole in a sheet or put on a Spider Man mask? This year someone actually came to my door dressed as a policeman and told me my cat had been run over. What type of sick joke is that? Admittedly I did give him a sherbet dip and a couple of blackjacks, but only because he was bigger than me.
The intermittent sound of fire engines
Some are good, most aren’t
Some of these are actually good fun. Most aren’t. I have variously been asked to: “Do my comedy stuff between the spring rolls and the main course,” “insult the MD” (always a favourite) and “remind everyone that Liz got off with most of the staff last year.” I did actually meet Liz, and I can only assume that everyone had had quite a lot to drink that year.
Of course, there are people who don’t believe in Christmas and some who just don’t like it at all. There are even people who have a fear of it, which I believe is called Santa Claustrophobia.
And then a week after Christmas comes New Year’s Eve. The one night of the year when we force ourselves to have a good time and when at midnight we will kiss anyone within a ten-yard radius and then stand in a circle, arms linked with smelly sweaty strangers and sing the first few words to Auld Lang Syne and then, like John Redwood, make up the rest of them.
Anyway, I have to go now and start wrapping my presents. I’ve bought a new collar for my cat. Talking of which, I haven’t seen her for a while.