The Christmas Break

I read a thing a few years ago about the type of injuries that hospitals typically have to deal with at Christmas. I can’t remember the exact figures, and for once Google has let me down, but essentially these were the type of things the article was on about:

• x number of people will be admitted with broken wrists after falling backwards off their chairs when pulling a cracker;
• x number of people will spray their Christmas Trees with water to keep the pine needles from falling off, but will do this while the lights are plugged in, and will electrocute themselves;
• x number of people will crack their skull by striking it off the toilet cistern when getting back off their knees after vomiting.

No, sadly, not like this

There are also less salubrious, and hopefully apochryphal, urban myths about men presenting themselves in A&E because they’re, er, trapped in the turkey. In the mathematically-impossible likelihood that I ever felt the urge to do what they were apparently doing, if I did become trapped I’d saw off my own mickey and bleed to death sooner that turn up in front of a female nurse with some ridiculous tale of tripping while carrying it naked (as you do) to the oven. Some people seem to have no sense of shame.

There are even less salubrious tales regarding turkey basters that I’ve pushed so far to the back corners of my mind that I think they can see Narnia behind them.

Anyway, to brighten all your spirits on this Christmas Eve, here are Tinman’s predictions, based on no scientific research whatsoever, of the type of injuries that Dublin hospitals will have to deal with over what is aptly termed the Christmas Break:

• Five people will set fire to their hair by forgetting to take off their paper crown before lighting the Christmas pudding;
• Seven people will burn the insides of their mouths after discovering that, while chestnuts roasting on an open fire sounds lovely in the song, in the real world they have the consitency and temperature of firelighters;
• Three people will swallow pie-slices from Trivial Pursuit;
• Six guys will choke while hurriedly swallowing their chewing-gum upon realising that the hot girl in the office is standing under the mistletoe;
• Thirty-four husbands will be hit by buttons flying off clothing that they’d bought for their wives, having no idea what size she is, and having insisted “of course it will fit you, try it on”;
• Two people (let’s be honest here, two blokes) will accidently headbutt each other while air-guitaring the bit of Bohemian Rhapsody where “to meee” ends and the guitar solo starts;
• Four parents (of either gender) will be hit in the eye by a Brussels Sprout spat out forcefully by a child who had insisted on trying one;
• One person (again, a bloke) will catch pneumonia after sleeping in the dog kennel because he was sent to collect the turkey, slipped in for one pint and came out after the Butcher’s was shut.

And finally, at least one parent (probably of a spoilt only child) will have to be rescued by firemen after trying is prove to said doubtful child that of course a man can fit into the chimney.

Anyway, Happy Christmas to all of you who read this. Have a great time, and take care.

Tinman