A Merry Christmas to all my Readers!


My nephew Michael is very dismissive of Christmas. He has even written a song about how awful he thinks it is. He never used to think that way when he was little and I gave him his Christmas Box. I only used to give him a Beano annual or something, but you should have seen his little face light up. Kiddies love Christmas. It would be easy to say that that’s just because they are greedy little buggers that are only interested in what they get. My nephew probably thinks that these days. And of course there’s a bit of truth in it. But then when you look at it, kiddies are the poorest people in the country, in that they are entirely dependent on handouts. They are going to get excited about any opportunity to gain their material possessions aren’t they? We’ve ruddy well taught them that material possessions are what counts in life. They have no easy means of getting hold of many, apart from at Christmas and their Birthdays. They are the only real chances they get, so if they seem a bit greedy, whose fault is that? It’s only what we’ve taught them.

But there used to be another reason why the kiddies loved Christmas. Maybe there still is. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the adults would be a little more available, a little less preoccupied, and a lot less likely to dish out a thick ear or a slapped arse. This might have been something to do with Christ’s message of love to all mankind. Bit to my way of thinking it had more to do with sherry. Everybody used to drink sherry at Christmas. Anyone who didn’t probably drank advocaat, which is basically a mixture of Dutch Sherry and custard. These days people are more likely to drink alcopops or extra strong lager, which makes them ruddy belligerent. You don’t get belligerent from Sherry or advocaat. You just get merry. And if you can’t be merry at Christmas, then when can you.

If they had had Sherry and advocaat in Jamaica, then Bob Marley wouldn’t have had to smoke all those drugs and make a mess of his lungs. And he would still have been just as mellow and relaxed.

My Christmas tip to you is to make sure that you get plenty of sherry and advocaat down you on the day. You don’t have to drink the ruddy stuff. You can stick it in a trifle, or make custard with it to pour over your pudding. Or you can do both of those things and still have a few glasses.

And don’t worry if the kiddies have a little in their trifle or custard. It’s Christmas for Heaven’s sake. It will probably calm them down a bit. Stop then arguing over those ruddy toys you spent so much on. There would be a bit more harmony in the house then.

In fact it is your duty to bring harmony to your little corner of the world at Christmastime, by whatever means you can. But don’t go thinking that you can bring harmony with thick ears and slapped arses, any more than they can bring harmony to the world with bombs and missiles. Cut all that stuff out. If Christmas doesn’t mean harmony, then all that’s left of it is greed. Leave that to the Tories; The greedy ruddy pigs!

If you are in the mood for more Christmas cheer from your dear old Aunt take a look at my Twelve Days of Christmas, from last year.

Auntie Doris’s Twelve Days of Christmas. #12: Twelve Drummers Drumming.



Our Michael knows a couple of Drummers, what with him imagining that he is a big pop star and all. He used to have that Hugh Whitaker out of the Housemartins in his pop group. But that didn’t last long. He never stays in a pop group for long doesn’t Hugh. Now he’s been replaced with that Simon Porter, or is it Piper, I don’t know, they are both funny names for ruddy drummers anyway. Mind you, drummers often do have funny names. Look at that Ringo Starr out of the Beatles. What kind of a name is that? If you ask me the Beatles went downhill once they signed him up. They should have stuck with that Georgie Best. He knew his way around a drum kit, that lad. Shame he didn’t know how to look after his ruddy liver. A bit like Charlie Watts out of the Rolling Stones. He was another one who put his ruddy liver at risk. I mean, we all like a sherry or two at Christmas time, but some of these rock and rollers take it a bit too far. Our Michael once drank so much sherry at a pop concert that he was actually sick. Through his nose. The filthy so and so. I’m glad I wasn’t the one that had to wash his shirt for him. Sherry vomit stains are the devil’s own job to get out. Twelve ruddy days of Christmas? And what do you end out with. A house full of birds and strangers. I wouldn’t thank anyone for presenting me with twelve drummers making all the racket that drummers make. And if that Phil Collins thought he was inviting himself around for a Christmas drink, he would have another think coming. “Phil Collins! What the flaming Nora are you doing here? I would say. “Well” he might reply. “Dave Grohl told me you were having twelve drummers around for Christmas, and so I thought it would be alright” I’d have him then. Quick as a flash I’d say – “Oh and if Dave Grohl told you to stick your neck on a railway track, I suppose you would think that would be alright too, would you?” And then, whilst he was puzzling that one out I would say. “Only it couldn’t be, because you haven’t got a ruddy neck, have you!” Still, I would invite him in with the others, and then give them all a baked potato each. One of those Piping hot Maris Pipers from yesterday each. What’s that? I’ve only got eleven Pipers Piping, but I’ve got twelve drummers to feed? It’s OK – Phil Collins doesn’t want one – he’s no Jacket required! Uncle Raymond’s final Christmas Cracker Cackle of the Season: “She was only the poultry cook’s daughter, but she knew how to gobble the goose.