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?
