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! 3 or is it actually 2 days to go?

Bah flipping poo Humbug.

I think I don't believe in Father Christmas, any more.

There are, at this moment, only 2 full days left. And, that is because I am writing in the evening, at the end of the day, when essentially there is not much left of the 3rd day before Christmas.

A day that started off searingly hot, rather like a griddle pan, only I was not about to sit around like a steak waiting to be cooked. After a morning of working, I decided that my hair needed trimming - or I might fast end up resembling Einstein, and I might as well paint my toenails pink. They have been orange for over 6 months now. Time for a change of colour, or I shall be deemed boring or too predictable. Mind you, the orange colour did stick out, like a sore toe.

And, just when I thought things were going tickety-boo as posh people say. I dropped my Blackberry Priv in the carpark. It slipped out of my hand as if it was covered in butter. I don't remember butter at the hairdresser, but maybe I missed something ...

Smack.

And a pretty mosaic of lines across the top of the screen. Naturally, I chastised myself with more than a colourful array of expletives. I chastised myself even more, when I was told by some two-bit repair centre that it would take about 10 days to get the part.

Now, I have to debate whether I go to the official BlackBerry service centre, which you cannot call, or whether I chance it with a dodgy repair shop.

This is why I Bah Humbug Christmas. We are enticed to spend money on frippery, and when we need to get something repaired, it takes five times longer than it should, and is no doubt charged at a premium because it is the holiday season.

I am not sure I believe in Father Christmas any more. Father Misery, alright.

I suppose I shall have to simply listen to Greg Lake and try and believe in Father Christmas. At least he made his protest against the commercialisation of Christmas into a song ...

And I still don't have an oven that works. Wonder if the turkey will freeze until next year?

Bah flipping Humbug.

BAH HUMBUG! - It's December again - only two more days to go

Bah Humbug, its 23rd December and now there are only two more days to go.

I suppose it will be a let down once Christmas Day is over. We don't get Boxing Day here - the concept of putting on padded gloves and smacking each other is too much for a hot, humid climate.

Actually, the thought of eating a huge meal is rather ridiculous for the tropics, but I suppose it is tradition and traditions are important, wherever you are. They create a sense of your original home as well as the new home you have chosen.

This year, as I said, I have outsourced many of the functions of cooking the lunch to the supermarket, frozen vegetables and whatever other time saving devices I can conjure up.


Turkey, the bird, not the country. Why do we eat Turkey at Christmas? My father used to detest it, "dry, tasteless meat," he would complain. Well, if you overcook it then it will be dry. I am sure that Jamie Oliver has a recipe somewhere to ensure that all the juices "stay trapped inside".

But I am not interested in a cooking lesson, I want to know why we eat a Turkey and not something else? Strictly speaking, many families eat a great many other things, ham, beef, fish (in you live in Scandinavia), capon (like an humungous chicken), pasta (if you live in Italy) and just vegetables if you are not into meat.

Everyone knows that Scrooge bought Bob Cratchit a turkey (he was going to eat a goose) in Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol (1843).  Turkeys are just larger birds and if you were a large family in Victorian England, then a turkey for Christmas lunch seemed like the best option.

Turkey was considered a luxury until around 1950s - most families ate goose, like Bob, or swan, or pheasant or even peacocks (hard to imagine that these birds were not considered a luxury!). If you wanted something really splendid then the family roasted a boar and decorated it - they did roam fairly freely in the wild years ago. Many families still eat roast ham along with their turkey.

It is reported that Henry VIII was the first English monarch to eat turkey at Christmas - a tasty bird. Once source I found, mentions that in "1526 William Strickland imported six turkeys from America and sold them for tuppence each." [Why do we eat Turkey on Christmas Day?] A cheap meal at half the price. Well maybe not five hundred years ago! Imagine being the first six people to eat turkey 500 years ago - unless of course Henry VIII bought all six and ate them all. He did like his food.

Edward VII, Queen Victoria's son also liked his turkey at Christmas it is said.

I found a wonderful anecdote from Jonny Wilkes: "Before the introduction of the railways, Norfolk farmers would dip turkey's feet in tar and sand to make 'wellies' for the walk to London, which could take up to two months.

Rather fit turkeys by the end of that walk.

Whatever the reason we gobble the gobblers, if they are free range, they are a good source of low fat protein (and no added sugar or corn syrup) and they free up the other animals, like cows to make the milk and cheese and chickens to lay eggs, and sheep to give us wool and pigs to eat the left overs.

So give a thought for the sacrifice the turkey is making for the good of animal kind as you tuck in to your Christmas lunch.

BAH HUMBUG
Gobble, gobble, gobble.

Read more from these sites:

Why do we eat turkey at Christmas?

British Turkey

Why do we eat turkey dinners?