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