It is the very Devil, isn't it, Christmas, all the hypocrisies rolled into one, the rich man in his castle, the poor man sleeping on the street; the mistreated, mateless mother, her soul trashed by her kids' consumerist expectations; the poor, the sick, the lonely, those estranged by familial strife, the bereaved, all mercilessly dragooned into believing that the footfall in the shopping malls, the scorching cyber avenues and the simpering, noncing monsignors are actually something to do with them, something, for fuck's sake, to celebrate. For many it will be a misery and for even more it will a disappointing delusion.
I saw a woman on the box, yesterday, I nearly said the News, silly me. Some Godless, heathenbastard moron, gobbing away at her self-scripted nonsense about how not getting home by rail was not an option, as though her life, and it's momentary intersection with mine, was a Bruce Willis film , in which she would star for me, triumphantly; her arrival at her family's MincePie House was not subject to things like the weather or to what we call Acts of God, fuck me, no; silly cunt. Just another one of those conceited Ruinettes, her brain turned to mush by Infotainment Inc; God knows, they're everywhere, dribbling platitudes which they can hardly pronounce. Dunno why she irritated me so much, maybe because, in the same bulletin, two people had been washed away to their Merry Christmas deaths by angry, swollen rivers; maybe because as I write this I'm looking at the sky again, at the sea boiling and frothing over a road it has just washed away. I'd love to grab that stupid bitch by the throat and Say, There y'are, go and walk through that lot and tell me that Failure's not an option. It's ninety miles an hour forecast here but that can mean gusts of a hundred and thirty, blew me over, yesterday, flat on my arse, Harris barking his head off, tangling his lead in my fallen legs.
And that, of course, the mighty weather, is what it has always been about, the mid-winter feasting and firing and fucking; it really tells, up here in the North, from now on the days will get longer, perceptibly, there'll be gales and storms and hightides but there'll be light, in which to cope with them. After a decade or so here at the End of the World that is what we and I guess all our neighbours, all the islanders, are actually celebrating, the triumph over, the survival of Darkness. Down South, even a Godless heathenbastard such as I would find church or cathedral at midnight and sing lustily with good courage. The Christians, of course, would humour me and say That, Ishmael, Hallelujah, is what the Christ child's message is, the triumph of Light over Darknesss. That and Religions Incorporated.
I don't begrudge them their services and I love their carols and to anyone here who is a believer I wish you a happy and a holy time, in Heaven the bells are ringing. For the rest, as mrs narcolept says, wherever you are I hope you withstand the weather, each other, the crassness of it all and emerge safely on the other side.
Thanks for so many good wishes this year and please accept my own in return, with the compliments of the season. Normal service will continue.
It is a crass thing now, Christmas, Mr Ishmael. Difficult to celebrate when so many have so much strife.
But we must mark it though. We must continue to have a special time. If we let it go, it will be replaced, by something worse.
I wanted to thank you for the time you spend on these posts. Unlike the beeb, they are educational, informative and entertaining. I hope you have a nice Christmas.
I'm with Vincent, Ishmael.
No question that this world is full of misery and is fundamentally lacking. But be of good cheer. Millions of Hindus believe there is a whole other world of hope, so do the Buddhists, the Jews, the Christians, Shinto and a thousand other believers. Most of the people on this earth. They are not deluded or defective, there is another world and a whole lot of pathways that lead to the ultimate truth. So do not despair. Your blog is the business, keep at it.
Best wishes from Down Here. Its already Christmas Day, and I'm off for a walk on the beach before it starts - the kids (19 and 22 years, BTW) will soon be expressing disappointment in presents carfully selected by their mother, and sent at great expenses from their relatives in the UK; then my wife will be in tears, as usual, and then the final insult - she will say its all my fault.
Christmas, don't you love it!
Reciprocated Mr. I.
Thanks for all your efforts ... and my coffee-despoiled keyboard :-)
Thank you for the laughs Mr Ishmael. I love this blog. All the best to you sir.
Can I echo the good wishes of the above postings and add the hope that the new year brings with it much improvement in your own health and well being.
Dear Mr Ishmael
Brief movements in reconciliation are tough - wearther is just weather.
I bid you my heart, Sir, and also my sentiment.
Happy new year to you and yours inc. dogbloke
Happy new year my friend.
Let's hope it's better than the last few.
I really think it will be.
2014's gonna be shit. Saving grace not 2013, done that utter waste of time and come out the back end. NI cunts are still cunts, probably want more money.
I for one am chuffed to be wishing you a happy new year. Is it sentement if you mean it? Cheers dude.
Wishing you a Happy New Year Mr Ishmael, belatedly.
My excuse is a cold the like of which I thought might take me to hospital only I remembered your warnings about mackerels and stayed away from the germ-ridden place. On the plus side, as I didn't feel much like eating, this New Year sees me thinner than I went in to the holiday.
Post a Comment