Unhappy Christmas

It is a truth largely acknowledged, if not especially well documented that one unhappy Christmas more than makes up - or makes down? - for any number of happy ones.

In fact, a single Christmas of serious tragedy will make every Christmas for the rest of your life a difficult time. A time of sadness. Of bitter reminders.

I've had two really unmerry Yuletides in my life.

Uncle Bill: Escaped

Seven

First when I was seven, when Mad Uncle Bill escaped from the hospital on Christmas Eve and turned up on our doorstep dressed as Santa, with a semi-automatic revolver in his sack, killing three members of my family before turning the gun on himself.

And again last Christmas, when the Caledonian Brewery's seasonal festive ale was a little too malty for my taste.

Man, that's going to bring back some painful memories this year.

But the problem is, it's not just a sad and twistified minority who have to suffer this. Consider collectively the traditional 12 days of Christmas and fact that nowadays, the commercial build-up generally begins in late November.

Fucking

That's about six fucking weeks worth of time that can reasonably be considered 'Festive Season' - therefore the odds of tragedy striking during this time aren't particularly high.

Out of every nine friends, relatives or pets that die, one of them is statistically determined to snuff it at Christmas. One in nine job losses, one in nine fertility-treatment failures, one in nine crippling accidents, one in nine natural disasters. Hell, one in 365.25 people will die on Christmas Day itself. Reality doesn't take a holiday.

So, you see my point now? Pretty much everyone over nine years of age is going to miserable for some reason or another at this time of year.

So my question is: Why should the kids get all the fun and innocence? Let's all do our bit to ruin Christmas for them too, eh?

Discard It

One tactic I particularly like is to take a bloody reindeer carcass and discard it outside the entrance to the local Primary School during the last-day party when they're all inside happily playing Buckeroo, or Connect 4, or whatever they do these days.

If some amateur 'carol' 'singers' come to my door with a couple of pathetic lines of 'We wish you a Merry Christmas', I demand that they perform the six-part Wilcox arrangement perfectly, and when they fail, I throw boiling tar over them.

Go to a pantomime in which Sir Bob Monkhouse is appearing, and instead of 'Oh No It Isn't!' or 'Behind You!', shout out 'You're dying of Cancer'. Laughs aplenty, I tell you.

And if you're a child who has suffered tragedy, you too can get your own back on the system. Just volunteer to play the part of Inkeeper I in the Nativity Play, and when the time comes for you to deliver your solitary line, simply say 'Yes, we've plenty of room here. Come on in guys!'

Trust me, Christmas is better when everyone else is as fucked-off with life as you are.