The sunny disposition that normally radiates from this blog like a streetlight haze over a large city will be slightly dimmed this week, as the season of peace, goodwill to all men and the 24/7 playing of Fairytale of New York reaches its zenith.

There are people who love Christmas, and it is safe to say that I am not among their number. The number I am among at the moment is about seven-and-a-half grand, which is the balance on my credit card. I am spent, in every possible meaning of that term, and it’s only the start of the week.

I tend to think of Ebenezer Scrooge as a do-gooder wuss who caved at the first sign of hassle. How the painfully jovial Spirit of Christmas Present might have reacted to being simply told to fuck off, or how any of them might have dealt with being sprayed with holy water or garlic were options that he never chose to explore.

Don’t get me wrong. There are a lot of great things about Christmas. I love the look on the Tinkids’ faces when they see their presents on Christmas morning. I loved it when they believed in Santa, and we had to leave out his bottle of Guinness (how does the fucker drive?) and the carrot for Rudolf (eating Rudolf’s raw carrot after the Tinkids went to bed was generally the only healthy thing I did for the whole holiday).

But I hate the hassle, and the bustle, and the fact that Dublin’s Lord Mayor lit the Christmas Lights on November 9th this year, to encourage us all to shop earlier. And the fact that Midnight Mass has gone. And the fact that going to mass on Christmas Eve fulfills the Christmas obligation. And the fact that carol singers seem to think that Jingle Bells and Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer are carols. And all the excess.

K8 the GR8 has already written this great post


about houses like this one:


Seriously, when did we become such a nation of gobshites? Where’s our sense of restraint?

Now, it is a sign of the mass of contradictions that Christmas awakens in me that, despite all I’ve written in this post so far, I am the only one in the office who has his own Christmas tree.

This is it:


It sits at the crossroads of the four cubicles of GoldenEyes, QuietScotsGirl, Blondiebird and myself. It’s so petite that the perfectly ordinary houseplant on GE’s shelf looks like a giant triffid about to devour it, or like Laughykate’s family about to devour yet another neighbouring farm (you thought that comment had sailed straight past us, didn’t you LK? How much of NZ do you own?).

Anyway, that’s what I think Christmas Decorations should look like. If I lived alone, or really was master in my own house, I’d have a tree like that at home. And nothing else. And I’d take it down on the 27th, because I always feel stupid plugging it in on the 29th or 30th.

Anywayagain, that’s my Christmas rant over with. Sorry if I’ve spoiled your mood. And sorry about the title. And yes, the three H’s in the title DO stand (in no particular order) for ho, ho and ho.

6 thoughts on “HHFH

  1. Jo

    You think a ho ho fucking ho could spoil our Christmas Spirit! YOu’ll have to work harder that that, Scrooge.

    At least now I know what to get you for Christmas 😉

  2. SuperGrover

    On the bright side, I owe you a pint. So that should help offset the monetary worries. Feckit, I’ll buy you a couple next time.

  3. laughykate

    Hee. I have lived on me tod for the last few years and this year was the first time I have put up decorations. When I say decorate I really should justify it – tinsel on a bronze chest, a red plastic cherry wired around my pepper grinder, some lights and six red ball things wired around various cupboard handles.All props I failed to return from a shoot about five years ago. Ten bucks says they will still be up in May.

  4. holemaster

    I feel your pain Tinman, especially the credit card pain. I’m not a huge Christmas fan. I like the day itself when as much as possible of the family get together in one of the houses for a huge feast, a film, sing songs, games. The kids make it really.


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