White Christmas

Two good points this week – the dreaded German censorship (sorry, the protection of minors) law, which would have meant the closure of this blog has died. Unfortunately, like the bloodsucking vampire it is, it can still rise from the grave once more, so beware… But for the time being, German bloggers can peddle their wares without fear of being hounded by fortune seeking solicitors.

The second piece of good news was that Julian Assange was granted bail yesterday. Now I’m aware of the opprobrium surrounding this case, and that Assange has quite possibly a more than unsavoury role in his demise, but the fact of the matter remains that a damoclean sword hangs over him in the form of the retribution being sought by the US, the so-called bastion of free speech. This sword makes it almost impossible not to see this as a crusade against both the man and the ideals of free speech he has come to represent.

This little respite in an an otherwise wayward world gave me pause to peer out of my window onto a snow swept landscape and remember that they forgot to cancel Christmas again…

So, in honour to all you Christmas muffles out there I wrote this little ode. You can read it here.

This will probably be my last post this year, because it will take me that much time to wobble over to the computer, and my fingers are no longer extensions of my hands, but little blobs at the ends of my bloated arms. Yes, we are now at the eating stage of Christmas festivities, and I’ve only just survived devouring my birthday cake. I tried running the last two days, but it was more like a waddle if you ask me, and the ducks who were watching me fell down laughing, so I guess it wasn’t even much of a waddle. What can I say? that I’ll keep on rolling… What’s the menu look like: We do breakfast – various cuts of meat, cheese and jams pasted onto large bread rolls, washed down with mugs of hot coffee or tea, followed by a big lunch with things like roast calf heaped with potatoes, carrots and peas all swimming in a delicious gravy, followed by coffee and cake, and I’m not going to talk about the cake, followed by a “light” tea of homemade burgers and sausages, all topped off with lashings of beer and schnapps, and we haven’t even got to Christmas eve yet…
But it’s safe to say that the Christmas blues are now a thing of the past, and I am presently living in succulent food heaven, and damn what the doctor says – there’s always next year for that! Here’s wishing all my readers – yes, that’s you and you, a happy yuletide and a rollicking new year!

Okay, I know. It happens every year, we all know it’s coming, and do any of us really prepare – well, you might, but I know I don’t. And it leads to Christmas stress and despair. Lonely guys hanging around shopping arcades, kicking their heels, wondering what the fuck are they doing there, what does their wife really want from them when they say, “nothing dear,” and where the hell do you get it? And it doesn’t stop there. After you’ve mauled your way through the crowds to the till with that special item in your hand that you know you are going to be returning in January, after fearing for your life as you fought with that granny for those last pair of multi-coloured socks that really, nobody wants, and my god, isn’t there supposed to be a fucking recession at the moment – where have all these people come from? After all that, when you get home, breathless, cheeks tear streaked, gasping for the soothing kiss of alcohol, any alcohol, you have to wrap the damn things up in pretty paper, tie unbelievably difficult knots with a ribbon which refuses to be tied down, and then, after patching up all those bits of torn paper which pass for wrapping, so that your present looks like it has been chosen and swaddled with loving care, you have to sit down and write an original little heartfelt message to all your loved ones, who ask you afterwards why do you always write the same old crap, can’t you think of something new to scribble, when you’re thinking that you’re lucky you can still put pen to paper, let alone think of anything to say at this oh so wonderful time of the year. Yep, that’s where we are again – Jolly old Christmas!

So, the season of cheer is approaching, which generally means alcohol consumption – up, calory consumption – up, size of girth – up and an overdose of stress related hormones due to the purchase of presents in unendurable conditions. Well, as Santa says, hey ho!

But, of course it also means the rounds of Christmas parties, and visiting friends, which is always fun, and is also the reason I was digging holes in the ground this week. My good friend Clemens, who hosts a Christmas party of gigantic proportions (for our tastes, anyway) every year, has decided to do it the Maori way this year. This means digging a massive pit, lighting a fire at its base until it’s down to the glowing embers, and then placing the meat over the embers, and burying the whole lot, leaving it to bake for five or six hours. Since I had time on my hands, I was the lucky one who got to dig the pit. Oh, my poor, aching back. The dinner’s tonight, so I’m really looking forward to seeing how it all works out.

I was going to rant and rave about the climate summit in Copenhagen, maliciously comparing the piddling amounts of investment governments are prepared to make to save the world to the massive amounts of cash they have thrown away to save the banks. But I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. So there!