Bah Humbug! - It's December - AGAIN! 23 Days to go

And so we enter the second day of Advent.

I managed to go for a walk today. And I avoided the Christmas Muzak. However, I did not avoid having a fight with a load of tinsel that was strewn over the floor outside a building. The debate was whether to gather it up and do something with it, or mutter something about surplus population and waste of money. I picked it up and placed it out of the way of trampling feet.

Rather Christmas spirited of me.

Which reminds me, if the price of Champagne in the supermarkets insists on being so stupidly expensive, then it will be a Prosecco Christmas. But oh, yes, didn't Boris mention something about more expensive Prosecco? Or was that in the UK? Well, whatever, I think it will have to be a Scrooge-led Christmas this year.

Bubbles out of the way, I prepared Stave 3 of Charles Dicken's masterpiece - A Christmas Carol to work on with my Friday afternoon pupil. There is a tenuous link in here somewhere about the tinsel and surplus population.

Today is going to be the Ghost of Christmas Present. Except he doesn't bring any presents, just want and ignorance.

And why wasn't this version available when I asked my pupil to watch the movie?

Oh, Bah, flipping Humbug. Only two days down and how many more to go?

Bah Humbug! It's December, again - 12 more days to go

Twelve more days?

What only twelve? Where did the other 13 go? Where did my resolve of being organised and ordering a cooked bird this year go? Or maybe we should try roasted penguin instead, it is an option.

Oh, this is why this time of the year is such a bah humbug. The effort you need to be nice to everyone when all you want to do is sit in a corner and finish reading Bram Stoker's Dracula. However, come to think of it, Dracula had a way with people.

On the tenuous association of Count Dracula and Christmas (see how I manoeuvered into that?), I wonder, did Dracula, or Vlad as he is so evocatively named, did he celebrate Christmas? And, if so how? Did he continue impaling people, or did he get intoxicated and a rush of high blood sugar from his over-indulgent victims?

I often wonder what it would be like to have a conversation with an historic figure, a fictional character, or even a professor or author about then and now. That is the downside of mortality. How fascinating the idea of immortality and the discourses one might have. (Gosh, now I sound like something out of Charles Dickens).

Imagine, reading something really interesting, and thinking, "I'd like to know more about that". And, then, being able to converse with the creator. On the downside, it might lead to disappointment when you realise that your interpretation is no where near what the author originally intended. Thereby creating work and conjecture for such eminent philosophers of literature, such as Wolfgang Iser. 

Wolfgang Iser has no direct correlation (how can you tell I am working on a research project?), with Christmas, past, present or future, (except that he probably celebrated Christmas in the past, and if he were a ghost, he would create another tenuous link to Dickens and therefore to literature).

Nevertheless, Dr Iser, with his philosophy of reception aesthetics ought to be considered for a moment in relation to Christmas. Literature is the creation of the relationship between the author and the reader and their interpretation. 

Therefore, Christmas too, might be considered as the individual interpretation of the relationship between the Pagan roots, the Winter solstice, the Roman tradition of decorating doors and houses in green for celebration, the Norse legends of Odin, the Dutch myths of Sinter Klass, the Christian celebration of the birth of Christ, a time for families and friends to reunite and celebrate a year past, a myriad of other traditions, myths and legends from around the world, and the advent of mass commercialisation. 

Christmas ought not to be what we are told it is on the television, advertising posters, social media, and whoever else has a vested interest. 

Christmas is what we make of it, it our own unique and individual interpretation of a couple of thousand years of tradition, culture and religious respect.

And, finally, to lighten things up, another installment of ...

DOWN THE CHIMNEY ©

 ‘Oh Dad,’ said Mum, ‘don’t take the mick,

That can’t be old St Nick,

That chimney’s such a boring chore,

He’ll come in by the door.’

I didn’t care where Santa was,

The why’s or where’s, because

All I wanted were my toys,

Instead of chimney noise.

Bah Humbug, "God Bless us all," said Tiny Tim - and that's my interpretation!