by Quinn

Well, Christmas is almost here and I can’t be bothered to write my lengthy-ish seasonal post after all; shopping and wrapping have taken up too much of my time.
So nothing about my trip into Manchester the other week wandering around the Christmas markets, where I saw the strange sign “Wanted – temporary staff for Christmas market stall” (are there really vacancies there for permanent staff?); how calling a member off the bar staff in Sinclair’s Oyster Bar a “wanker” may have resulted in me getting better service; or how much fun we had looking at the prices in Harvey Nichols (£2.50 for a standard pack of dried spaghetti? how much better can it be than the 40p stuff in Morrisons? And £4.95 for a normal sized bar of chocolate, albeit spotted dick flavoured?). No, none of that.

Nothing about it being the time of year when people seriously consider drinking Old Tom, a stupidly potent winter ale (once called a barley wine in a previous incarnation) from our local Stockport brewer Robinson’s, which a mate of mine once judged from the pump clip logo (left) must be “so strong it will give your cat a stroke”. No time to tell you that.

What about carols? I can’t spare a moment to tell you how much I like them, how superior I feel they are to hymns, that all the best Christian tunes seem to have been held back for this time of year; so it is a shame that no one has told the kids round my way that looking surly and shouting “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” isn’t really carol singing in the traditional sense, and won’t make me part with any money.

As for fact that there is only one thing I really dislike about Christmas, and that is all those people who moan about how much they hate Christmas, and talk bollocks about the way we are blackmailed and guilt-tripped into taking part (which just isn’t the case), there is simply no way I can find the time to go into that.

In fact, all I think I can do is wish you all a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year, and I will probably see you next in 2006. Cheers.