Ho, ho, ho

"Get the fuck away from me, you sick fat child molesting bastard!" is what I should have said when some leery looking git in an ill-fitting Santa suit and grubby-looking fake beard said 'Merry Christmas' to me as I was minding my own business walking through Crapchester town centre earlier this evening.  I could have followed it up with: "You're no better than Jimmy Savile, you bastard!  You invented this whole Christmas thing as an excuse to get kiddies to sit on your lap and to creep into their bedrooms at night, didn't you?  Think of all the children you traumatised!  In fact, I think I'm just recalling a long-suppressed incident from forty years ago which I've never ever mentioned to anyone before - just like Jimmy Savile again!"  But I didn't.  Partly because he was accompanied by a pretty husky looking elf and I didn't want any trouble.  She could easily have kicked the shit out of me.

Apparently this red-coated bastard going around giving out unsolicited seasonal greetings was Crapchester's official Santa Claus.  Jesus!  We really are all doomed if he's the best they can come up with!  Then again, I suppose he's an apt seasonal symbol for this town: slovenly and ragged around the edges.  As if that encounter wasn't bad enough, when I was up at Sainsbury's just now - buying my Christmas beer supplies - I had to run the gauntlet of a bloody choir singing carols.  Who the bloody hell do they think they are, eh?  Anybody would think it was bloody Christmas.  Anyway, they'd thankfully gone by the time I came out, laden down with booze.  I don't know why, but I'd just have felt guilty if I'd had to walk past a choir whilst carrying nothing but beer.  Perhaps that's down to some deep repressed trauma...