BY the time you read this, Christmas will have come and gone.
However, due to trickery, magic and some jiggery pokery, I am, in fact, writing this the day before Christmas itself.
I know. Mind-blowing, isn’t it?
Hence, I’m not ready to start writing about New Year’s resolutions and all that malarkey.
I’ve also not yet played my part in preparing the Christmas dinner for the whole clan at Chez Wilmot, although, I have prepared several side dishes, including sage and sausage stuffing (a success, but I will have to remake it, given that I ate all of the first batch).
Moving on, let’s just pretend Christmas hasn’t happened, so I can tell you that, in homage to the recession (which we are still in), the Wilmot clan will not actually be celebrating the festive season this year.
Well, that is not exactly an accurate reading of the situation. We have been warned that we will actually be having a “pared back” Christmas.
I’m not entirely sure how to take this because when, you break it right down, what it actually means is fewer presents for me.
Upon hearing this news, I considered staging a protest and played with the idea of boycotting the entire shindig, but the flip-side of that would mean absolutely no presents at all, which is simply not an option.
After reviewing the situation, I’ve come to just one conclusion: my parents are just using the recession as an excuse to try to wean their children off presents.
We’ve had a good run of it, I’ll admit.
Some would perhaps use that unfortunate word “spoilt”, but I don’t think there is any need for that kind of language around here.
Ever since Santa stopped delivering presents to our humble abode, following an unfortunate misunderstanding between my baby brother and Rudolf, the parents have taken up the mantle and tried to make up for the loss of Santa’s gifts.
I won’t go into too much detail, but all I’ll say is that baby brother (he’s 24) thought there was a burglar outside and climbed onto the roof with a baseball bat. He saw Santa going down the chimney, there was an altercation and things got nasty.
Brother got thrown off the roof and Rudolf got a black eye. The guards were called … you know, it just got messy.
Anyway, by association, sister and I had our names blackened in the North Pole.
We did launch an appeal against this decision, but again, there was another misunderstanding which I am legally bound not to speak about because a certain someone doesn’t come out of the whole thing looking too well.
I won’t name any names but er … he’s fond of wearing red – take from that what you will! As a result, the entire Wilmot clan does not feature on Santa’s gift list.
Yes, children, it is true. If you are naughty and attack Santa with a baseball bat, he will knock you off the good list and stop delivering presents to your house.
I am living proof of this – so be good and all that jazz.
Now, where was I? Yes, the recession and Christmas.
In fairness to my parents, they have really embraced the recession with gusto.
Papa is a regular visitor to Lidl, or is it Aldi?
(who knows – they are all the same to me).
He has become fond of purchasing hedge trimmers and the likes for knock-down prices.
Following an unexpected encounter with an electricity bill, mother has also taken to switching the lights off at every given opportunity.
She has also insisted that bulbs which have blown in the kitchen are not to be replaced … I can only presume this is some ingenious money-saving exploit, although I have yet to receive confirmation on this.
Reason would suggest it is either that or an aversion to light.
And, having been left to his own devices, father also bought the Christmas ham in Lidl/Aldi this year.
This caused widespread upset, and I believe said ham ended up in the rubbish heap after mother threw a strop.
Anyhow, tune in next week to see if I’m still alive.