Bah Humbug - it's Christmas Day

Bah Humbug!

It's Christmas Day and ...


I came downstairs and where were the presents? The space under the tree was bare.

What just happened?

I rubbed my eyes.

Still no gifts.

So much for all the wrapping and piling them up under the tree.


They'd disappeared into thin air.

Then, I heard a snigger.


And, there it was.

On top of the piano, where Santa's half eaten mince pie normally sat, and Rudolph usually left a half-eaten carrot.

The gifts had been Grinched.

This was a real Bah Humbug.

More later ...

Bah Humbug - It's December again! I've run out of days, and time to write

Oh Bah Humbug. It's Christmas Eve - only just.

Now I've run out of days and time. Tomorrow will be upon us rather soon. Too soon for my liking. And I have not written a Christmassy rhyme.

I have defrosted the turkey, and thought about cooking tomorrow. And that perhaps I might have to take a nap after lunch as eating turkey makes you sleepy.

Which reminds me, Google Translate - you really are quite something when you translate Turkey as Les pays de Dinde. I am still not quite sure what to make of that.

Back to the impending arrival of Christmas Day, which as I write this has already happened in New Zealand. There are photos to prove that Santa has been there already.

It's been raining heavily here, so I hope he has wet-weather tyres and an effective set of anti-lock brakes on his sleigh.

Meanwhile, Santa's elves have finished wrapping the gifts, so I had to take a photo of the tree, with gifts sitting around it.

It made the tree look less ...

well ...

less austere, and more decadent.

Amazing what a pile of Christmas wrapped empty cardboard boxes can do for a tree.

And so, dinner out of the way, we became Scandinavian.

In a time honoured tradition, that involves opening gifts early, just in case the Vikings turn up, we all opened a gift, or two before midnight. It takes the edge of having to wait until the morning.

Some Lego, a t-shirt emblazoned with sarcasm, a book of Spanish curses, a book about Artificial Intelligence, which made me wonder whether the tree had any feelings, and, a gift, I was not allowed to leave until morning - Dr Marten's boots.

I tried them on.

I'd never had Dr Marten's boots before.

Now I felt young.

And they so go with the pink shorts I am wearing.

I was tempted to go to sleep in them, as they are rather comfortable ... it reminded me of the first pair of trainers that the boys' step dad bought our youngest son. He wore them to bed. They were special.

I thought about wearing my boots to bed again. And then the cat jumped in the Doc Marten's shoe box.

Bah Humbug, I shall have to write something more Christmassy and pudding-like tomorrow.

Bah Humbug - It's December again! 6 days to go!

It's Monday, Monday 19th December. In less than a week, 6 days, it will all be over. We will all have eaten too much, forgotten to unwrap gifts carefully so I can reuse the wrapping paper next year, and realised that half of what we bought each other has just contributed to the clutter that we had decluttered earlier.

As I ponder over the ever-increasing commercialisation of Christmas and whether I really ought to cancel the present buying once and for all, it forced me to reflect upon the origins of exchanging gifts at this time of year.

I mean, yes, I know all about Saint Nicholas and the golden oranges. But not everyone is a poor old man in need of a dowry for all his daughters.

Yes, I know that St Nicholas was well known for his kindness and generosity, taking baskets of food and items to the needy, never asking for anything in return.

And that is just it.

Those gifts from St. Nick were for those in need. If you don't need something, then St Nick shouldn't be visiting you.

The controversial question arose. If we are not in need, then why are we temptingly drawn in by tear-jerking commercials and glitz each year? Unconsciously, we spend the bonus that we were given (or not if you work for yourself), that should probably have gone towards something we needed, or something we don't.

Unless of course, you are a dog ...

And yes, there are a number of other fantastic commercials to rival John Lewis, but they did it first, and if I was that dog, I would want a trampoline too.

Bah flipping Humbug.

BAH HUMBUG - It's December again! And today is Christmas Day!

Six Forty 2014

Get up! It’s time and Santa’s been,

Bounced boys with voices oh so keen.

Just look at that beneath the tree,

I wonder if they’re all for me?

I slipped downstairs to cook the lunch,

They might get hungry was my hunch.

Buried under paper mountains,

Sting and ribbons flew like fountains.

How did you know I wanted that?

Lego, books, and toys for the cat.

This day’s completely crammed with fun,

I sigh as it’s only just begun.

The veg are prepped and oven’s on,

We’re eating turkey not roast swan,

There’s pudding, cake and mince pies too,

I think that’s quite a lot to chew.

And when at last we’ve eaten all,

On to the sofa we’ll all sprawl.

Before we start our exercise,

I might just close my tired eyes.

Sarah Froggatt © 2014

Even the cat decided that he should be sitting at the table:

BAH HUMBUG. It's December again - only one more day to go!

Bah Humbug, it's 24th December, Christmas Eve, again.

And just like last year, my post will probably take most of the day.

All the advent calendar chocolates have been devoured, even before breakfast - where did 'no sweets before lunch' go?

Never mind, I have other things on my mind like Shakespeare (he never wrote anything about Christmas - maybe he was a bit of a bah humbug too?). He does mention Christmas in Hamlet, but Hamlet is a tragedy and Twelfth Night refers to the twelfth day after Christmas, but I never got that much of a sense of Christmas from the play - a cross-dressing love triangle.

Maybe the Bard and I have more in common than I thought?

Or maybe not.

Which brings me back to the topic of Christmas presents and chimneys and Father Christmas.

Similar to last year, we have no chimney - who needs a fire in their home in Singapore? so I suppose Santa will have to come in through the front door or downstairs, or not at all. When I was younger, my parents would tell me that unless I tidied my bedroom up (and that included everything I had hidden under the bed), then Father Christmas would not visit because he did not like children with messy rooms.

That was probably the only time of the year my toys got a clear out.

Now it's a case of getting my children off the computer or whatever screen, or dropping whatever game they are playing thundering up and downstairs with swords and other weapons.

Stairs are extremely good for exercise, so I cannot really complain.


In recognition of chimney challenges, I have dug out my Christmas ditty from last year - maybe I shall get back to it before the day is out and finally complete it. Then next year I may just get around to illustrating it.

Down the chimney   

It’s Christmas Day, without the gifts,

Did Santa get our lists?

Dad said, ‘It’s cold, I’ll get a log,

While mother feeds the dog.’

I looked around the Christmas tree,

In search of gifts for me,

My brother searched with all his might,

There was nothing there in sight.

We eyed the mince pies on the plate,

To check if he had ate

A bite, or drunk a glass of milk,

Or if it was all just bilk.

The white moustache upon Dad’s lip,

Betrayed more than a sip,

And hard to hide the mince pie crumbs,

That sat all over mum’s.

Dad lit the logs sat in the grate,

And told us all to wait.

The chimney smoked and then it coughed

An ‘ouch’ came from aloft.

Dad stuck his head up in the chute,

And uttered a loud hoot,

‘I do believe old Santa’s stuck,’

My brother said, ‘What luck.’

‘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.

The chimney spat out clouds of smoke,

It made me want to choke,

So off Mum shuffled to the door,

Then cried out, ‘Saints galore!’

The door was bolted shut, quite tight,

It had been like that all night.

Dad said, ‘I hate to disappoint,

But I think I have a point.’

We all looked up the chimney stack,

And spied a large brown sack,

A pair of boots and a red coat,

All covered in black smoke.

I knew my presents were up there,

With Santa in mid-air.

I wondered how we’d get them down,

And Dad began to frown.

My brother found a cricket bat,

Mum said, ‘You can’t use that.

Let’s face it Santa’s squeezed in tight,

He’s been there half the night.’

'But I want to open all my toys,'

I said with grace and poise,

'There must be something we can do,

To release him from the flue.'

My mum just shook her head and sighed,

'He's really lodged right up inside,

I think his rather largish tum,

Has far surpassed his bum'

My Dad then had a strange idea,

To bring some Christmas cheer,

We'd pull the sack with a large hook,

And dislodge it from the nook.

My brother went to fetch a stool,

To reach the poor old fool,

While mother clapped her hands with glee

And went to make some tea.

Dad tugged and tugged at Santa’s cape,

To help old Nick escape,

But the cloth just ripped off in his hand,

Not really quite as planned.

We heard a rumble from up above,

And Santa gave a shove,

But all that fell was one black boot

And a shopping bag of fruit.

Where did the fruit come from? 

That will be for Christmas Day ...

Bah Humbug.

Bah Humbug. It's December again - only 8 more days to go

Bah Humbug, it's 17th December. Doing my sums, and that's "maths" not math as maths is the short form of mathematics (please remember that if you live on the other side of the pond), then I have one week and one day - eight days!

Meanwhile, at school my eldest son's class is holding a secret Santa.

This struck me as strange for a group of 14 year-olds (my 12 year old said they weren't planning anything). He had to purchase a gift of between $5-$10. So yesterday, we went to the toy shop and he picked up two small pieces of Lego. Fair enough, I thought.

He folded the plastic bag around the toys and declared that task done and dusted.

'But you need to gift wrap it,' I protested.

'No, I don't, there's a bag around it,' he retorted.

'But it's Christmas and you can see through the bag,' I countered.

'Bah Humbug,' he sorted.

Last night, like some furtive elf, after he had gone upstairs to bed, I pulled out the wrapping paper and wrapped the gift.

How on earth could he contribute to a secret Santa when his gift was not secret?

That got me thinking about why we gift wrap presents. After all, to the bah humbug or more eco-conscious amongst us, it is a waste of paper and superfluous.

So, I delved into this. One of my pupils told me the joy of having a present wrapped is partly in being able to rip the paper off. She then admitted that one of her friends removes the paper carefully so it can be reused and that her grandmother used to keep the paper to reline drawers.

An extremely practical use for wrapping paper.

But what drives us to wrap presents?

Some reasons I found are:

- To create a festive feel (after all it is not just at Christmas we wrap gifts).

- Wrapping hides what the gift actually is, leaving an element of surprise or anticipation (and let down when we open it) - my son should take note of this.

- Shimmering wrapping makes the gift look good.

Obviously, there is a great deal of deep rooted psychology at play. Dr Daniel Howard, professor of marketing at the Southern Methodist University in Dallas published a study on the psychological effects of gift wrapping in 1992, (Guardian Newspaper, 20 December 2010), his comment was: 'Gift wrapping, through repeated pairing with joyous events in people's lives, has utility in cuing [sic] a happy mood which, in turn, positively biases attitudes.'

So gift wrap makes us smile.

But where did it all start?

Giving gifts was not just invented for Christmas. I expect even cavemen gave gifts when they returned home with a woolly mammoth.

The Roman festivals of Saturnalia, the winter solstice (I will have to explain those in another post), were a time of gift giving and in turn, the idea became associated with Christmas and the Three Wise Men. Although, in early Christianity, gift giving was discouraged - after all it was a pagan tradition.

We have the middle ages to thank, and the legend of St. Nicholas and possibly St. Swithun to thank for helping to make the giving of gifts part of the celebrations.


With the invention of paper (China 105 AD) gifts began to be wrapped. Given that the secret of how to make paper did not reach Europe until around 1000 AD, European gifts were probably wrapped in leaves or animal skin. (That's my comment ;) )

What is certain is that wrapping up gifts and items was a tradition of shopkeepers and retailers who used to wrap the packages in brown paper and tie them with that rough string that feels like hessian. This was to make it easier for shoppers to carry their purchases home.

Decorated paper was not easy to produce, and it took developments in the printing process to allow colour to be included at the end of 19th Century. However, the paper was very thick - rather like wallpaper, in fact wallpaper was often used to wrap gifts, until people became frustrated with it cracking and splitting all the time.

Tissue paper was used instead. It still is used today to pre-wrap delicate items. But one day in 1917 the tissue paper ran out in the Hall Brother's store in Kansas City. Rollie Hall, the owner, it is claimed had an idea and brought out sheets of decorative envelope liners. He sold then at 10c a piece. Within a couple of years, this decorated paper became extremely popular and Hallmark entered the gift-wrapping business.

Now most stores offer gift wrapping services and some people make a business out of it. So there is absolutely no excuse why anyone should not wrap their Christmas gift.


Whatever the origins, whatever the reasons, the act of gift wrapping keeps your gift secret and creates wonder and surprise when piles of brightly coloured boxes and shapes are piled under the tree.

As my eldest son remarked today: 'Well, the Christmas tree exploded gifts last night I see.'

BAH HUMBUG

Make sure you wrap your gifts.

Bah Humbug. It's December again - 13 days to Christmas

Bah Humbug, it's 12th December. And I've only got 13 days left!

Half the gifts I ordered on line have not turned up yet. What is the point of ordering on line if your "stuff" never arrives?

And then there is the "trying to order on line" thingy. That is where you go on line to purchase something because you don't want to elbow your way through the crowds. The "trying" comes in to this because, no matter how hard you try, you can't order. In my case, I need to talk to someone.

Easy.

Get off my butt and go to the shop.

Why do that? A shop where I would have to queue up? and as I mentioned, queueing is a sheer waste of time. 

(even seagulls seem to queue these days)

Which made me wonder why on earth we queue, and why on earth the British are known to be the best at it.

The queue is revered as a very British institution. Although, actually the word comes from the French word for tail, queue, which in turn derived from the Latin cauda. And so, contrary to popular belief, and as the BBC write, it was Thomas Carlyle a 19^th century historian who wrote about the French penchant for “standing in a queue”.

Another instance of the British, borrowing to create such a wonderful and rich language. (see the History of the English Language in 10 minutes):

So where did the myth about the stoic Brits and their passion for queues come from?

There are supposedly some references to queueing in the Bible, but I am not too sure about where that comes into play. What is clear however is that the British queue in an orderly manner for things like Wimbledon and mostly in banks, but waiting for a bus? No. 

Or is that because there are now so many people in Britain who have forgotten or never been instructed in this art?

Queueing had become a government-led institution in Britain during WW2 when everyone was expected to do their part, and that included waiting for your turn. Typically British, patience, decency, stiff upper lip and fair play! Except that fair play does not really come into it, more self interest, especially in the case of queue-jumping where I am sure, that many "queuers" (invented word) might like, quite controversially, to bop the jumper on the head. To throw a spanner in the works, there are the queue-jumpers who pay for the privilege, normally which turns out to be quite pointless, especially if you are in the queue for the January Sales, which probably won’t be much this year as everyone spent their money on Black Friday. However, if you are at a theme park, then there is a point to paying, although the danger is that you might get bopped on the head or thrown off one of those helter-skelter rides in the dark.

Dr Kate Bradley, a lecturer in social history and social policy at the University of Kent writes about the reality of queueing during WWII and of the arguments, civil disturbances of the time. She comments that “queueing was exhausting, frustrating and tense.”

Exactly my point!

Just the same today as it ever was. And if you try and queue for a bus or anywhere where there is no demarcation nor indication of how to queue, then the whole concept flies out of the window, or into a punching match – look at that stupid American custom of Black Friday, (that has nothing to do with darkness, witches and evil other than companies enticing us gullible consumers to part with our money). Bedlam – and there is a word that has a deep meaning – but that madness will have to wait for another day of griping.

There are theories and psychology papers about queueing. The theory of queues, which is all about maths and science and prediction and probability. And if you leave the queue you are in originally, you will never be happy and not get there any faster. Try it at a supermarket. Although on Wednesday I tried staying in the same queue and it didn’t work.

Meanwhile, Management Today reckons that the institution of the queue is dying out. We are moving to virtual queues, thanks to Rodger Dudding, a British engineer who lived in Stockholm and who devised a ticket-dispensing machine, the idea of linear queues from America and then Terry Green.

Terry Green, along with Martin Christie, an inventor, made use of digital sound recording to link a message to a number indicator board. Thus by telling the customer at the front of the linear queue which counter to proceed to, ‘cashier number five, please,’ the customer throughput increased by 15%. That means 15% less waiting time for everyone else in the queue, which of course depends upon how long the queue is and the types of transactions happening ahead of you.

All well and good, but if you are in a supermarket, then “cashier number five, please,’ does not work. And certainly not when you are Christmas shopping.

And then you get the economist’s view. Queueing is a failure of the system to match supply with demand. If you increase the price, the queue disappears, and so probably do your profits.

Nevertheless, they have cottoned on to my point, that time spent queueing is a loss of personal time and extremely inefficient.

Even making a phone call to a sales hot-line or ordering on line, you find yourself in a queue, waiting for someone to speak to you or waiting for your goods to be shipped out, because of an increase in demand and there are rather a lot of orders waiting in front of you.

And so, back to the reason why we queue. We queue for things we want, or think we want. Sometimes we queue simply because there is a queue (I see that a great deal where I live!), sometimes we queue because there is a limited supply of an item, such as concert tickets, items on sale, and sometimes queues form because the demand outstrips the supply. Maybe the answer to queues at Christmas might be to increase supply and the irritating queues would disappear.

The fall-back option is the telephone. 

Excellent idea.

Until I end up sitting waiting for someone to answer for 37 minutes and 37 seconds! And then the phone cuts off! 

Not such an excellent idea.

BAH HUMBUG