Tuesday 3rd January – Nail the door shut…..

As if the first day back at work, after a ‘Christmas-tastic-chocolate-stuffing-dressing-gown-fest’, isn’t depressing enough, I made the rookie mistake of switching on the news when I got in.

It appears that doom and gloom is no longer what we need to worry about. Doom and gloom is, according to the BBC, something we should be aiming for as a heartening sign of positive recovery.

For once, I can’t actually blame it all on the Tories either (well, apart from the train fares going up again. I expect that’s probably their fault.)

David Cameron and Nick Clegg didn’t however, have anything that I can in all conscience pin on them, to do with the total and utter bloodbath that the festive period in this country became.

Stabbings, shootings, decomposed bodies in the Queens back garden, police being run over, three times as many 999 calls as normal, taxis being stolen and town centres littered with vomiting girlies.

Peace on earth, good will to men.

Christmas, always the irritating terrible-two-year-old of the annual British celebrations, is all grown up.

It’s now a fully-fledged, knife-wielding, gun-toting, alcohol-drenched gang-banger who long ago stopped giving a tiny rat’s arse about stars, mangers or wise men.

Rampant desire and furious intent to out-fun the fun that was had last year, spurs the ‘Yule-Fool’ onto greater and greater blurring of the boundaries of normality in a crazed attempt to really let its hair down this year.

Yeah, Christmas dinner, a sensibly sized tree, a few presents and the Doctor Who Christmas special are okay but a bit of a snooze-fest to be honest.

The period between the twenty-third of December and January second used, when I was a kid, to be a time when families would stock up on extra food because the shops were closed. The old ‘turkey leftovers’ became a standing joke because, until the Co-op opened up again, it was generally slim pickings in the fridge.

According to BBC News, we will again have to become accustomed to stocking up and battening down the hatches, because Christmas in England is getting more and more like a festive break in the Gaza Strip.

With tinsel.

If you do go out to walk your dog you’re more likely to spot a rotting, dismembered corpse that you are a Robin, so if you are going to attempt to take a stroll in the winter wonderland-iness, make sure your mobile’s charged.

You’ll need it to ring the feds.

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