THE YULETIDE BLOG

Ahh, Christmas - that special time of year when the entire Christian world enthusiastically sets about attempting to attain the physical dimensions of a Lancashire sow by ingesting the caloric equivalent of a well-cooked-and-seasoned 2-year-old child (the other, other white meat) in one day. Bless Coca Cola and the poultry farming mafia for making it the event it now is.

Here in London, the full-time whistle has finally blown on the panic-stricken sale-mongering of the big retailers, leaving the streets largely empty and the population largely underwhelmed. Contrary to first (slightly desperate) predictions, there wasn't any snow on Christmas Day to distract everyone from their ballooning mortgage debts and smaller-than-usual pressies. It was nippy, but the sun shone for most of Christmas Day and today, Boxing Day. Someone must've known I'd decided to walk from my place in London Bridge up to Hackney and back and taken pity on my naive optimism.

Apart from the disgraceful bleating and pleading from M&S, Harrods, Tescos, Woolies and co., the lead-up to Christmas here seemed rather un-eventful. It was like the news and current affairs seemed to slow down in direct proportion to the number of residents bleeding out to warmer climates to escape the red-and-white Christmas saturation of every aspect of English life. Maybe it was just me, but London seemed almost quiet. Ye gods.

So, after finishing early at work, Christmas Eve saw me kicking back in the early afternoon before my Chrissie phone calls to home, sipping on a tall, ice-choked glass of Cap'n Morgan and coke, nibbling on my Tescos Christmas pudding (which bore a striking resemblance to Winston Churchill), with the flat to myself after my housemate scrambled away to Bermuda, immersing myself in the amazingly-satisfying tv smorgasbord on offer.

Embarassingly, a small, persistent, Clark-Griswald-like corner of my being relishes Christmas and all its trappings. So being able to flick through what seemed like every single Christmas movie ever made at my leisure was like sneaking a guilty little treat from the fridge of someone you're housesitting for. Forbiddenlicious.

There was also a plethora of other stonkingly-good-but-embarassing stuff on, like both versions of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the Dr Who Christmas Special, music channels with The Top 50 (insert phrase here) Songs of All Time, you name it. There was even a Christmas panto starring Ronnie Corbett, which I had to watch for 5 minutes just to remember how truly awful panto is (Ohhh no it isn't! Ohhh yes it is! Ohhh no it isn't! Sheesh. Some wine with that cheese?).

Christmas Day I trekked over to my friend's place in Hackney, a good hour's walk (no public transport, and taxis were asking for your first unborn child and a weekly percentage of your salary). Great stuff with the empty footpaths though, loved it - an empty London when the sun's out is a sight to see. Zhera and Mark cooked up a storm of mouthwatering canapes and roasted goodness while I dutifully quaffed the wines I'd bought over and joined in on eye-wateringly-bad Moulin Rouge duets. Oh, and started off like an absolute demon at Jenga before turning to water in the final two rounds. Finished up with swollen bellies and magic cocktails that seemed to empty almost as quickly as they were filled. Great Xmas Day all round.

Now, for New Years' Eve........ is it illegal to do nothing for New Years Eve if you're in London? Someone the other day suggested with a straight face that here in Londinium they quietly drag such fun-dodgers away and they re-appear on Jan 1st "re-Neducated". Bah. Bollocks to that. You can stick your 30pound taxi fares and 50 pound cover charges right up your London Eye as far as I'm concerned. Ahem.

Hope you've all had a suitably calorie-saturated Chrissie - let me know if you're doing anything utterly mind-blowing to bring in the New Year. Maybe I'll be inspired to try and break my run of 4 rubbish-to-average NYE's in a row.