Christmas

What is Christmas? I never know. Is it baubles or presents, or those little candies you get that have like tiny wrapping and you untie them and like then realise that they're totally unfulfilling. I think we can all feel like that sometimes.

I knew a girl once. Auburn hair. Nice socks. An interest in nature. A reasonable ability to cook Ragu Bolognese. A love of kittens. She was called Brenda and she gave me a Christmas that I never forgot. Not yet anyhow. She broke my heart. And my legs. It was a careless accident involving a felled condiment drawer and a jack russell called Steven. It's a long story, but suffice to say, my love for her never died - and neither should yours. For whoever you love. Unless you love Brenda. In which case 'fuck you' and you know, I know where you live Gerd.

Anyway. A lot of people say that Christmas has lost its edge. That the things that make it what it used to be have gone. That a cynical new age has led to a lack of Johnny Mandel re-issues. Diet Coke. The be-cheapening of faith by the likes of Stephen Dawkings.

What was it that the Wise men bought Jesus? Gold, Frankenstein and Murr. I never knew what Murr was and, you know, I'm so busy with my dissertation on 'Hitler and his dog' that I haven't really time to find out, but I think it's a kind of scent. And to me - that is the true meaning of Christmas. Smells. The whiff of fur. The stench of treacle. A rustic fire and a Jack russell called Steve whimpering with fear. So maybe the message this Christmas is to 'smell more'. I think the baby Jesus would like that.

Merry Christmas.

KJP

Why Leonard Cohen is never going to be Celine dion no matter how hard he tries

I never met a Canadian I didn't like. Canada has given the world so many things. Canadian Maple Syrup. Mounted Policemen. Elks. The Queen. Bryan Adams. Ryan Adams. Grizzly Adams. And of course the very considerable vocal talents of Celine Dion. PROBLEM. I was in a pub  in Covent Gardem with some of my team on Friday night and in that team there is a Canadian called Adam. He had drunk quite a few pints of Nun's Ear and he and I got into a discussion about the merits of different pop acts. He swore that Leonard Cohen was a bigger talent than Celine and that Celine hadn't even written My Heart will Go On. "That may be so" I responded "But at least she can sing. Leonard Cohen sounds like a man who can't sing singing." That quietened him. That put a flea in his ear. I hate Canadians most times.

Lovelorn

There's a girl who gets on my bus. She's a - I dunno - there's something about her. Sometimes she says things like - "Excuse me" or "Sorry". What's she apologizing for? I love seeing her and she has these amazing hats. Like last week on Friday it was a green one. She gets off of the bus at New Cross and catches the train. I don't know where she goes from there. Sometimes I kinda like to fantasize that I follow her and see but I'm not a pervert so I don't. I guess sometimes the Lord's gotta great sense of humor!!!!!!!! And wisdom. He's got a lot of wisdom too.

Why Paris Hilton is no Cameron Diaz

I love people. They are born and when they begin to talk they say amazing things. Often. Some don't of course. I love the thought of never having to impress a lady with my body. I know that my headspace is my innermost secret and that time brings most solutions. But Paris Hilton you are a privelidged lady and I think you should stop cussing CAmeron Diaz forethwith, she is an ethnic minority and a person in her own write. SO STOP IT.

David Cameron is my hero

So I just visited David Cameron the British PM's childhood village. I gotta tell you guys it's like the most awesome place I've ever seen - a small village called Little Muffing-on-the-Crumpet. Anyway the tour guide who took me round - a man called Mr Bernard Cribbens - told me that this crazy notion that Dave Cameron is a stuck up posh Old Etoxbridgodian is like total doggy poopy because his - get this - his Mom was a baker and his Gran (or Nana as Mr Cribbens put it) worked in the main village pub The Otter's Crouch. Also turns out that his Mom's sister was a death-face make-up artist - someone who puts make up on dead people to make them look their best when they're buried. Anyway - I love Dave and I tell you this that when I get back to Newfalls I'm gonna have one hell of a slideshow!!!!!!!!! So put that in your pipe and smoke it Gerd. Actually don't. I know you Mom and Dad went through a lot of pain during those years when you smoked crack with beatniks in Delaware. Just pay attention to what I say. I love you Gerd.