Wake up you lazy buggers!
I can see you all out there, fast asleep on your settee/couch/sofa (delete as applicable) stuffed tighter than Nigella's jumper and brimming over with festive punch.
In the good old days we would all be sitting around watching Billy Smarts Christmas Circus waiting for Disney Time, but these days it's wall to wall animated movies and that old chestnut, who's going to peg it in Albert Square?
There seems to be a degree of post turkey blues across the nation, all of us on the edge of our seats wondering if Prince Philip will still be here to see in the New Year. It really is touch and go if Philip will get as far through Christmas as Pat and her festive earrings!
It must be a sad and worrisome time for the Queen and the Royal Family. On the other hand there are lots of pheasants (and probably peasants) around Sandringham who will now escape the ignominy of being shot to pieces by the nations favourite grumpy Greek import.
The Pope and the Arch Bishop have both disseminated their Christmas messages, I managed to avoid both as I find them a little tedious and repetitive. I mean how many Christmases do we have to hear about Jesus? Can't they give someone else a look in? How about a nice papal lecture on Gandalf and the Hobbit next year?
There will no doubt have been some mention of 'the journey', how a poor carpenter and his wife slogged their guts out to get to Bethlehem only to find no room at the inn. (I would recommend Late Rooms next time). Ending up in a stable, filled with animals, drunk shepherds and so called wise men who had taken the whole Movember thing a bit too far in my opinion. The baby Jesus was born and the rest, as they say, is made up history.
My Christmas journey began with trips to Waitrose and Tesco. It's very Charles Dickens, a tale of two supermarkets. One light and full of prosperous patrons named Jennifer and Aubrey, the other dark and dismal and full of paupers called Ug and Blah.
As Mrs B and I went into Waitrose to collect our pre-ordered organic turkey crown (complete with roasting bag for a guaranteed moist breast), we were told that the queue for the checkout was running at about 45 minutes. Jennifer and Aubrey were looking flustered and I don't know if you ever noticed this but really really stuck up middle class people don't sweat or swear...they just look like they might explode at any minute. If they did explode then all of that repressed anger and sweat would wash down the dairy aisle and send the extra thick vanilla custard and the executive brandy butter straight out of the door.
Of course our presence in the same queue really unsettled them because I didn't have a tie on and Mrs B wasn't wearing her pearls and even worse...I hadn't shaved!
We also had the effrontery to keep fetching other items to add to our trolley after joining the queue - obviously not the done thing!
Anyway, we eventually escaped from Waitrose and then moved to the dark hell of Tesco. The first thing that hits you as you enter Tesco is that the people there do not have any trouble at all in either sweating or swearing. In fact they do both quite a lot.
It is the sort of place that Jennifer and Aubrey would never be caught dead in, even if salmon fillets were on offer and chablis half price.
Now, Ug and Blah are quite at home here, well when I say home there is probably less fag ash in Tesco but it's a close run thing.
The language is sometimes difficult to make out, except for the cursing of course which is always loud and clear. On this day, Ug and Blah were very loud indeed and I think I managed to work out that Ug was angry at Blah because she had put something in the trolley that scared him - it was a tooth brush.
Mrs B and I find it easier to pass ourselves off in Tesco but you have to make sure that you hide your Sainsbury carriers bags until you get right to the checkout.
If you want to have real fun you stand very close to Ug and Blah and say in a loud voice, 'look dear, can you believe the price of this frozen fish-substitute pie covered with potato-substitute topping? I believe it was seventy pence cheaper in Aldi."
You then stand back and watch the stampede.
You may be thinking, if Tesco is so bad why shop there? The answer is that there is always plenty of fresh produce to choose from as Ug and Blah can't bring themselves to walk down those aisles at all. They just head straight to the freezer section.
So, with turkey and vegetables and plenty of booze stocked away for the winterval, you now find me replete and able to take a few moments to pass on seasons greetings to all of my loyal followers.
I hope that all of you get what you deserve this christmas, not just indigestion but a chance to be with people you like - and if that doesn't work out there is always family.
Enjoy the rest of the season of good will and give a thought to those less fortunate than yourself - poor Ug lying comatose in A&E after Blah forgot to thoroughly defrost the simulated turkey breast slices in tikka masala gravy. Not forgetting poor Aubrey, laying in the next cubicle following a nasty accident with the nutcrackers which slipped as he was attacking his macadamias.
Poor Aubrey, I fear his nuts will never be the same again.