It is Christmas. A sickly pallor grips the skies. Father Christmas curses and picks the dead flies from his yellow beard. Christmas.

I make my usual day-off visit to the big Sainsbury’s. I like it, it has a capacious selection. There are many and varied items there. I wander up and down the aisles, pondering over these items, until finding the six or eight things I need to provide me with sustenance for another few days.

While I am there, Slade’s Merry Christmas Everybody plays. It appears to be now playing on a loop. I’m not sure the song ever ends, and I’m pretty sure nobody even notices. It’s been going since 1978, and Noddy Holder has aged while singing it.

Every time it is on, it seems to take about 40,000 times for the sentence “So here it is, Merry Christmas, Everybody’s having fun” to segue into “IT’S CHRISTMAAAAAASSS”, that definable screech, that denounment to the record.

It comes as something of a relief when this happens. I sigh with weary satisfaction and move on. I then burst out laughing in the middle of a supermarket as I imagine that he is screaming that final line, not in elation, but in fear.

Fear of Christmas.


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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