Bah Humbug! It's December, again - 1 more day to go

Last minute Christmas shopping

My last minute Christmas shopping had nothing to do with gift shopping. I had done that ages ago, and as I mentioned, I had conducted most of my shopping online. That way I avoided having to interact with anyone, get shoved around by people who should know better - where is that purported Christmas spirit? What happened to the general sense of being kind? 

Probably getting drunk down the pub.

Shopping online saved me the bother of leaving my home - so I had more time to write, illustrate and read, not to mention play with the cat who thinks he is the cousin of the mayor of Barnaul in Russia. Or is that the cat that thinks he is the mayor?

My shopping foray involved collecting a vacuum packed pre-roasted turkey - because I do not want to spend four hours trying to roast the thing and another four hours cleaning out the oven. So, I outsourced that part. I also picked up some fruit - not typical Christmas fruit - strawberries and raspberries, and some Scottish smoked salmon and New Zealand free range eggs. 

"I thought you needed vegetables?" my eldest son enquired, rather concerned that tomorrow's lunch would be a balanced meal - I could make it balanced without vegetables by placing the turkey on a set of scales, but that would just be stupid.

Vegetables were purchased on Tuesday and Wednesday, when they were displayed fresh and are now chilled in the bottom of the fridge. 

My eldest son had even bought his brother a Christmas present at the end of November (I hid it in the bomb shelter). Ironic that my eldest son. The main perpetrator of Bah Humbugishness in our household, should go to the trouble of finding a gift for his brother.

And so, today, Christmas Eve, my son and I shopped like a couple of men - we made a bee-line for what we needed, worked in tandem at the self-checkout, and marched back to the car. Done and dusted in less than an hour door to door.

But that is where I think my son is the exception. I am convinced that Christmas Eve is the day that men (there, I am being sexist), suddenly realise that they should have bought a gift. They rush out in some mad panic, pick up fifteen gifts that have no real relevance or meaning whatsoever to the person or persons they are purchasing for and pay for a wrapping service, because, men just don't wrap gifts. 

There were men everywhere. Well, of course, it is normal to find men about the place. But so many? And most of them with children in tow or being carried. Where did they all come from? What was their mad rush around the supermarket and shopping mall in aid of? 

I only hoped that my favourite, privately-owned toyshop was not beset by more of these pseudo-families who choose not to read the notice: "please do not take the toys out of the box", "please do not remove the boxes from the top shelf, they are on display below" and, "please be careful when replacing the boxes not to knock any other items on the floor. Once broken they cannot be sold".

Yes, I was rather taken aback the other day when a couple came in with their child who wanted everything, he wanted to touch everything, he wanted to open each thing and put it on the floor and play with it. All in spite of the request of the shop owner, who was more than polite. It is at times like these; I am glad I do not own a physical shop. I sell through Etsy, so all my stuff is online. No one can touch it, dirty it, or break it. Phew.

Now, back to gift wrapping. Actually, there are youtube videos of people wrapping gifts; you can watch them for hours and hours on end. But somehow, I can think of better things to watch than presents I shall not receive being wrapped by someone I shall probably never meet.

DOWN THE CHIMNEY ©

Mum blushed, and wiped her hands all dry,

‘I wonder, Santa, if I might pry,

Whether in your ample sack,

A Christmas pud there’s packed?

Santa wiped his face all clean,

A sparkle in his eye did gleam,

I’ve got the toys, a new robot,

And the pud that Mum forgot.

Bah Humbug, tomorrow is Christmas Day!

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.