Christmas and Humbug

Last day of work in the office before the hols. Mind you I've got plenty reading material packed into my bag, and various documents at different stages of development on my memory stick. Played at various carol services (discovered I need a new capo for my 12-string), been wished "Happy Christmas" by all and sundry.

Not my favourite time of year though. There's so much strange stuff going on. Parents who want a scary fat bloke in a red suit to get the credit for their kids receiving presents. I've never understood that. I think parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, pals, should get all the credit that's going. No need to involve that made-up person who shall remain nameless. And then there's that other made-up person who appears and disappears about this time of year. He's a perpetual baby. Never grows up. Never does or says anything. Winks into existence round about the 16th December, and out of existence again around midnight on the 25th. He's something to do with the arrival of the Living God in human form, but only distantly. And then there are all those strange things that get sung (or more likely mumbled). Ships, sheep, shepherds and snow all crop up in strange combinations.

I'm tempted to say "ba humbug" and leave it at that. But I secretly enjoy the kids’ faces when they get those surprise presents we’ve successfully kept hidden since September. I quite like the food - yes even the endless turkey sandwiches. And I do think that it's completely mind-blowing that the Son of God, who made everything and sustains it, was to be found not in cot in a palace, and certainly not in the sanitized stable of the Christmas cards (the one with the animals that didn't smell and the straw that didn't stab), but in a filthy byre in Bethlehem, an obscure town in an obscure corner of the world. Beginning a story, that in the worlds eyes, had no happy ending even if it might be construed as a heroic one.

So Christmas does have its redeeming features after all…..

So as will be completely clear from the paucity of material in this blog, I'm just not a natural blogger. I do still keep a journal. Inspired by Graeme "Boogie" White when I was a student, I've had one since 1982-ish. Some years are good for journal writing, some are poor. I went through an electronic phase in the early 90's which was a disaster. I've got chunks of journal on an old Psion organiser that I can't get off. And more on an old laptop with a dud battery that's forgotten the password. In 2005 I went back to notebook (of the paper kind) and pen, and it's gone well. But that is different from this. Is anyone ever really honest in a blog? We all have stuff that we would be completely mortified for anyone else to know. Or have I just let out a big secret that only I have? So sorry if you (if you exist) thought that you were going to read my most intimate thoughts and rants. That's the point about them, they're intimate; not for public consumption. So a lot of diary, not much blog. But I've got far more important stuff to feel guilty about.