Friday Had Five Sherries too Many

I remember reading an article in Metro recently where someone actually did the sums on just how much Father Christmas would have to drink, how many miles he would have to cover and how many present he would have to carry in order to deliver presents to every little child in the world in one night (not the Muslim, Hindu or otherwise slightly dusky-skinned babies of course, because Jesus doesn’t love those babies and the chapter on Father Christmas came right after the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and John in the Bible as we all know – Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and Saint Nick, as they are more properly known).

Anyway, the bit which amazed be about that article was the sheer banality of it.  Every child has a bit of an epiphany quite early in their lives when they realise the monumental job FC would have getting round to every child in the world in one evening (the divisive bigotry of religion tends to be something we pick up later, so we still think the poor babies from heathen countries might be included at this stage – sadly this is not the case – poor heathen babies).  “Really?” we say to ourselves, or more usually to our Mums and Dads, “all the children in the whole world?” and that first little bit of the Father Christmas myth begins to crumble.  It’s a short leap from that to setting fire to kittens as a teenager, and so the diabolical spiral to a cynical, loveless death alone in a bedsit, bony, transulcent fingers clutching that one last bottle of gin desperately in our dying grasp has begun.

So, er, anyhow, how was your Christmas?  This is going to a deserted, surreal Friday Five I think.  Most normal people will be enjoying nurturing time at home with their family and friends, leaving the internet to the desperate and the lonely and obsessive internet weirdos like myself. And, hopefully, you.  The deserted plains of Planet Toad will be forgiving place to introduce yourself to the fives this week I would imagine, given the usual cacophony of ridiculous nonsense will presumably be somewhat dampened, so what better time to delurk, chip in, and relieve the belly-bursting gluttony of the immediately surounding forty-eight hour period.

1. Which day do you predict will bring your worst hangover of the Christmas period?
2. Describe your worst present (if you dare).
3. Favourite Christmas trilogy you absolutely have to watch over the Festive period?
4. Favourite TV programme Christmas Special.
5. At what time will you get sick of all this festive shit and just fuck off down the pub to get scooshed

Johnny Cash – Solitary Man
The Holy Modal Rounders – The Cuckoo
Horsefeathers – Hardwood Pews
Bob Dylan – Tangled Up in Blue[audio:]
Alela Diane – Pieces of String

These are all taken from my parents’ music collection.  Admittedly, some of it might be in my parents’ music collection because I insisted they put it there, but that still counts.  Obviously, I can’t take credit for Bob Dylan, The Holy Modal Rounders or Johnny Cash.

I will actually be doing a podcast tomorrow, but it may be a little late as I am finally going skiing for the first fucking time in about ten fucking years.

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