A Modern Christmas Tale

Christmas, a time when mistletoe replaces rohypnol...

It's that time of year where Noddy Holder can eat again thanks to Royalties and everyone puts aside the fact that their Bernard Matthews turkey most probably contains bird flu.

A time when all that is left of Brazilian rain forests is a small strip down the middle, as everyone simultaneously feels the need to express their 'genuine' desire that friends and family have a 'merry' Christmas via the medium of a card (apparently a text message or fax lack sentiment).

This year parents everywhere will be explaining to their kids that Santa has been hit hard by the recession, so has had to lay off a few elves and use an energy saving light bulb for Rudolph's nose. Subsequently, there may be a Tesco's basics satsuma in the stocking and you're buggered if you think your getting a Nintendo Wii this year sonny boy, my lad, my son.

The RSPCA are campaigning that it's cruel to make reindeer's fly round the world in one night and unfortunately British Airways which was plan B has gone tits up thanks to the Unions.

Don't worry though Santa, you can blame any delays on the weather conditions which are probably worse than the North Pole at the moment, or perhaps put it down to the extra safety measures that are in place due to the continued threat of terrorism (stop funding them with those pirate DVD's).

The kids were going to find out sooner or later that it was all a facade and that Santa is as real as Jordan and Peter's divorce (topical). Perhaps they wouldn't feel so stupid for believing in him in the first place if Santa wasn't depicted as some fat bloke with magical flying reindeer. If Santa was built like Usain Bolt and flew the Bat Plane then maybe it would be more plausible.

Remember that moment when you found out that Santa wasn't real and you thought to yourself, yes with the power of hindsight it does seem a trifle odd that this rotund fellow can cram both his massive arse as well as every kid in the worlds gifts into a sleigh and manage to circumnavigate the globe in a handful of hours, but who am I to call my parents a liar and it's nothing as ridiculous as that God lad.

Maybe subconsciously we just go along with it as it's much easier to say Santa has sh*t taste in jumpers than to relay this same accusation directly to ma or pa. To be honest I was part glad to find out that Santa was make believe, even as an innocent child growing up prior to the era when Glitter really hit his stride, I was still not keen on the idea of this old bearded bloke sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night (don't make me place an injunction on you Santa).

Perhaps the real tragedy is that some parents who, whilst not wanting to be labelled liars by their first born but hard up from the recession, will tell their kids that unfortunately NHS waiting queues were so long that Santa couldn't get the gastric band operation needed in time and died of clogged arteries caused by the consumption of too many mince pies.

But anyway we persevere, we put a synthetic plastic tree in our living room and dress it up with figurines of Santa (the fat jolly one, not the Usain Bolt Bat Plane one) and glitter and gold. We praise Jesus by competing with our neighbours for who can have the highest wattage of fluorescent lighting adorned around our humble abode.

Random pensioners knock on your door demanding money for charity in exchange for raping your ears with a medley of Christmas Carols (this does not count as contributing to society, you still serve no purpose). 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all' they sing, in reference to all those impoverished in Africa. No they don't is the answer, they don't have a bloody clue. Firstly they are predominantly Muslim countries that don't celebrate Christmas and secondly don't go telling them it's Christmas as that's one more thing they are going to get upset about missing out on.

Meanwhile the rising number of vegetarians means that nutmeg is now becoming a popular alternative to turkey (can't catch bird flu from a nut Mr. B Matthews). The package now legally having to explain that nutmeg contains nut. Now I'm a big believer in the motto better safe than sorry, but if you have a nut allergy and eat a type of food that has the word nut in it's name then both Darwin and I think you should die. Unfortunately medical professionals funded by my taxes will probably keep you alive.

Young couples, not yet burdened by the financial ball and chain that is children, will exchange gifts of equal value. The girlfriend or wife, will compare their gifts with those received by their friends and sisters after which their significant other will either receive a tirade of abuse or adulation (money can't buy you love, but it can save a lot of aggro). The man may contest that his gift came from the heart, alas the girlfriend would prefer it came from Tiffany's.

For families it is a reason to get back together...and then quickly realise why you left it so long in the first place. Mothers and Grandmothers will insist upon watching hours of soaps, with their festive themes of betrayal, brutality, loss and dogging (sorry that last one was Steve 'Phil Mitchell' McFadden in real life, I get confused). Will someone die in this year's extended finale? No, just my soul. We will further smite the allegedly Jewish Jesus with the mass consumption of pigs in a blanket, (pork wrapped in pork) and then to add insult to injury Cliff Richard will dance and sing on his grave and grow rich off a lazy remix of the Lord's prayer (I bet Jesus didn't even see any royalties).

The Queen will have to put in a shift, give a speech, wear a hat, the whole shebang, she's got the rest of the year to relax so for this one day she can dance to our merry tune. Alternatively maybe they can give Prince Phillip a turn this year?

Back to TV and Macauley Culkin's family will leave him again (and eventually so will Michael Jackson). Adverts will tell you that there is literally nothing more important than buying a new sofa (even though they won't actually have the one you want in stock until 2011). 'Buy now' they say, 'pay 54 years later in 1,179 easy month instalments', it's good to know we have learned from the recession.

But for everything, we must be grateful for the get out of jail free card that is the Christmas period. Turn up drunk to work on a Tuesday, hey it's Christmas. Didn't get that proposal over in time, no problem it's Christmas. Just recreated a Nazi style underground bondage orgy with the help of 15 prostitutes, come on it's...no Max Moseley, not even at Christmas.