Bah Humbug - It's December again! 5 days to go!

Tuesday 20th December, which can mean only one thing. It's that silly 5-4-3-2-1 countdown thing.

Oh, whoops, no it isn't, that's what they do at New Year, when no one is really quite sure what time it is actually. The only way is to turn on the TV, but then again, if you have a delay on your TV which tends to happen with HD TV, you will probably be late for the New Year. One advantage of not knowing what time it really is, means that if your camera doesn't work properly at the allotted time, you can always manufacture a replay and no one will be any the wiser. Believe me, we have done that ...

Five.

And so begins the mad dash.

But I only have two reindeer.

Why does Santa have reindeer? I mean, they don't have wings, unless there is some hidden drone-like engine in there and the antlers are the antennae?

Reindeer are found in the Arctic and can grow to be fairly large - 4 feet tall or well over a metre. They can weigh around 250lbs, or 113kg. They're pretty strong, being able to pull up to twice their weight. 

Well, that sort of makes sense, Santa is rather rotund. 

Santa was first mentioned as flying over the rooftops in 1812 by Washington Irving, but he didn't have any reindeer. And then an anonymous story appeared in New York in 1821, and there were the reindeer.

The one we really have to thank is Clement C Moore and his poem, The Night Before Christmas. All of a sudden, there were 8 reindeer! Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder and Blitzen. 

So, where was Rudolph all this while?

Probably not born, until Gene Autry recorded that rather annoying song, Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, or was it Montgomery Ward's department store in Chicago that gave birth to Rudolph?

Well, I only have two, and they've both got dodgy legs, but I do have some wild-looking glasses.

Bah flipping Humbug.

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! 13 days to go!

Monday 12th December.

One of those days when I had to use my brain. My assignment was due in by noon, UK time. No time for Christmas today.

What I did need to do, however, was to chase up on my oven that was not working, but should have been working. Still at the back of my mind was that niggling feeling that we might just be ordering pizza for lunch on Christmas Day.

Not much to say today, so I shall post a photograph of Santa decorating a tree that is decidedly miniature, next to an old telephone, that is fake.

Lots of fake around this year.

Bah flipping fake Humbug ...

Bah Humbug - It's December again! 19 days to go!

Tuesday 6th December. And, I still haven't written a single Christmas card.

I think I must have felt extremely grumpy this morning. I lined up Are You Grumpy Santa? to read with my primary student in the afternoon.

She was not overly impressed.

She had not chosen this book last week. But then again, I believe I omitted to give her the option.

So, she was not overly impressed, until she opened the book and saw Santa fall out of bed, have a cold shower, the elves shrink his best Santa suit in the dryer - so he had to wear the itchy woolly one, and then his reindeer got snowed under.

The mood changed.

Amazing how the excitement and magic of Christmas permeate young children and infects adults. I think I had forgotten, what with my Austerity- and Alt-Christmas trees, and two teenage boys.


Nevertheless, I could not quite get the image of an itchy, woollen Santa suit out of my head for the rest of the day, and became sympathetically Bah flipping Humbug itchy myself.

Think I need some more exercise.

Bah Humbug! It's December, again - 15 more days to go

There are no chimneys in Singapore

Actually, I probably lie, there are chimneys in Singapore, but not ones connected to fireplaces. Theoretically, I am probably lying again, but I argue that these fireplaces, feeding the chimneys that do exist, are not the chimneys and fireplaces meant for Santa, nor for roasting chestnuts around.

So, supermarkets, will you please cease and desist from playing Nat King Cole with his chestnuts around the open fire. Not least because it would be considered dangerous and contrary to health and safety.

And so, back to chimneys again.

The origin of Santa Claus climbing down the chimney is shared by many Europeans, and is thought to have originated from a Norse tradition. Odin entered homes on the winter solstice, climbing down chimneys or smoke holes to mark the beginning of winter.

In old traditions, the hearth (or fireplace stone) was believed to be sacred and a place that brought the family together. And the 17^th century Dutch artist Jan Steen painted a family looking up the chimney at Christmas. Which shows that Santa Claus was climbing down chimneys all over the world.

St Nicholas, as many like to call him, visited houses at Christmas, throwing coins in through open windows, however, when the windows were locked, he would throw coins down the chimney instead. 

Most likely, he found the door locked.

As winter was cold and freezing, St. Nicholas was eventually welcomed into houses, and children would leave nuts and fruit for him. It was probably around 1800 that Santa Claus and clambering down the chimney was exported to the US and the rest is commercialised - Bah Humbug.

As I finish my bah-humbugish commercialisation of chimneys, there is the rather heated issue of how Santa and his immense mass, was able to squeeze down the chimney and avoid singeing his backside.

And so, here are the first two pages of a little ditty, sketched out and ready for publishing, next year ....

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.

http://people.howstuffworks.com/culture-traditions/holidays-christmas/santa-chimney.htm

http://www.americanchimneyservices.com/katy/117-the-history-of-santa-claus-and-chimneys.html

http://www.unmuseum.org/santa.htm

Bah Humbug! It's December, again - 18 more days to go

Irreverant Christmas decorations

Living in a household of boys, - (even my cats are male, although they are at both ends of the testosterone scale) - means that there is no fairy atop the Christmas tree - not even a Fairy Liquid bottle - that would be too frou-frou, like the fat, feather adorned fairy of my childhood.

In fact, it is amazing there is a tree at all. The whole idea of Christmas is simply too commercial and too emotional.

This year, I didn't even buy discounted advent calendars. Mostly because all that were left were Bob the Builder and a rather tacky Transformers set. I just could not bring myself to part with my cash. Instead, they can choose to buy their own chocolate, or save up for a game. I suppose it helps to cut down on the Oxy-5 spot cream.

Nevertheless, there has to be an element of cheery laughter and a whisp of tongue in cheek humour associated with any Christmas - well, any Christmas in our house.

So, over the years, I have decided to create irreverant Christmas montages. A sort of relief to the clichéd nativity scene that is a construct of conjecture.

This year features a decapitated teddy on top of a bag of now-lost-its-smell potpurri, topplying snowman giving a Halo or some other posable game character, a kick up the butt.

I hate to think what might happen when the toys come alive at night.

Last year, we featured Santa - who looked like he was in a rush - ladened down with gifts, being show a Christmas cook book with a roast turkey on the cover, by a Penguin. I thought it was rather fitting as it carried on the John Lewis theme: roast a penguin.

I suppose now, I need to create a second montage for the moon. Maybe I will use some cheese and crackers, afterall, that is what the man in or on the moon eats, isn't it?

Bah Humbug. I wonder what roasted penguin tastes like?

Bah Humbug - It's December again! 23 days to go!

Stupid robotic lights

The tree was delivered in a thunderstorm. I wonder if that has some ominous Odin-like portent?

Ah, well, if it does, then we'll either get hammered this Christmas, or it will be a Loki affair - (oh my goodness, what puns and for this time of the morning!).

Instead of filling the house with the arresting aroma (not the alliteration there - just for my students), a dank rankness of rotting wood (oh such onomatopoeia and I can still feel the dampness in my nostrils), wafted through the house. 

"What's that dead wood smell, Mum?"

Sigh, this was not what I was hoping for. I wanted to conjure up a scent from my childhood, and not one that was normally found in an overfilled nappy.

I couldn't put on the aircon to dry out the room, as the drainage pipe, embedded in a concrete wall had decided to leak last Friday.  I shall be buying the aircon a new drainage pipe for Christmas. I've never bought an object a Christmas present, but I suppose the world is becoming a funny place, and very soon, we'll be buying our own personalised robots gifts to keep them happy.

So, does that mean that there will be a robot Santa Claus? And do dead robots go to Calculator Heaven? Too much Red Dwarf.

What has all this got to do with lights?

My perennial hate, fairy lights - why on earth are they called fairy lights? There are no fairies in sight - unless you count the froufrou fairy who only wore feathers, and sat on top of the small fake tree my mother used as a hall table tree when I was growing up. No one liked her; she was just too froufrou.

The lights, well the icicle lights have let me down, as I mentioned.

The two reindeer are so disgusted, that whichever way you look at them, they are showing you their butts!

Back to the lights and the apparently tenuous robotic link, which in fact, is not that tenuous. Chasing Christmas lights, are programmed, controlled with a little box. Rather like a robot. 

Robotic lights on the Christmas tree, so it won't be long before we have talking decorations.

In true Christmas tree light fashion, and as a reminder that even robots will have to retire to calculator heaven one day, I cannot control the lights. There are eight options, none of which work, apart from one, mega flashy freaky light mode. That is on one set. 

The second set twinkles. OK, I can just about handle twinkling. 

The third set, yes a third set - it is a large (well relatively) tree - fades in and out. Gosh, that one is almost as mind-jarring as the first.

And then, there is the final set. The set I recently purchased from Ikea. Stupid time to shop in Ikea, Sunday afternoon. That is when half of Singapore goes to window shop as there is nothing better to do. Exit a grumpy ang moh lady from Ikea over an hour later. The final set doesn't do anything. It just doesn't match.

And, as if to make matters worse, I need to remember to turn all the lights off when I go out (they are on a timer), just in case they short and set fire to the tree.

I now have nightmares of Victorian Christmas trees, adorned with candles suddenly bursting into flames.

Maybe my son was had a point when he asked for no Christmas tree this year ...