I've Got A Problem (Part the second)

Jason, my pet Amoeba (He's got more spine than me some days)

In my last post I alluded to the fact that I had a problem at Christmas.



I mentioned that I do enjoy the foods at Christmas.

I enjoy the feeling of goodwill to all men (except that racist, bigoted, bastard the Honourable Member of Parliament, Hone Harawera) (and of course Ringo)

I enjoy watching the Salvation Army Brass Band, out on the streets, begging for money from all passing.

Beggars can't be choosers

I enjoy the never ending, yet somehow joyful sound of all the Christmas Carols encountered everywhere from those areas renowned as being at the heart of modern Christianity.

The elevators, the supermarkets, the lingerie and perfume retailers, the giant soulless shopping malls, the pubs and restaurants and even the bloody lavatories.
Says it all really, have a sh*t to some joyful music.

I enjoy watching the morose council workmen putting up ever-tackier plastic Christmas decorations.

I enjoy watching the increasingly desperate male partners roaming every retail establishment in the vain hope that this year they'll get it right.

That this year they'll find a present that will bring a genuine smile to the face of their partner, and not a grimace which means "I hope you've got the receipt for this 'cause it's going back tomorrow when I can buy something I really want"

That this year they won't repeat the heinous crime of buying their partner something useful;like an iron, or a frying pan (I did this once. NEVER TO BE REPEATED. It was meant as a joke.  She didn't find it funny. See my post SUCCESS. for a list of things NOT to get at Christmas.

I enjoy the more generous hand at the Pouring Of The Whisky, the smell of pine needles as the tree is put up in the lounge. (It's really an artificial tree we've had for over 15 years, and it smells of pine needles because I always hang a pine car air freshener amongst the branches to cover up the smell of dust, mould and general fustiness which seems to hang over it.  Plus I'm sure that there's a hint of dog-vomit since the Christmas Pudding Explosion of 2005)

I even enjoy the semi-mandatory Christmas Eve Mass at our local church.

I enjoy it because I don't go.

Wild horses whipped by 10DK wouldn't get me through the doors, but I enjoy it because my Beloved and m'son do go to it every year.

And every year I'm left on my own for a few blessed hours.

To think.
To meditate on the year.
To gently imbibe a small large generous drinkie of the blessed Laphroig on my own.


But I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because I try not to be a hypocrite.

I feel guilty because I'm an atheist.

All of this mumbo-jumbo is completely meaningless to the real me.

I was raised as a Scottish Presbyterian and you can't really get much more fundamental than that.(I've ignored the extremists in the USA because they're completely beyond the pale)

I was raised NOT to:
Think
Have fun on a Sunday
Read anything except the Bible on a Sunday
Play cards on a Sunday
Do anything on a Sunday except walk to Church, DON'T fall asleep during the sermon and walk back.
Play or do anything on a Sunday

Over the years I've found that many questions I've raised don't seem to have any logical answers, so I decided about 35 years ago that these questions were intrinsically unanswerable, and that anyone who said they had the absolute truth was a con-man, and should be totally disregarded.

So when I feel joyful at Christmas, I've got a niggling feeling that I'm being hypocritical, and that's my problem.

I feel close to my family.
I don't hate anyone (although Ringo comes close)
I help those in need.
I completely pig out on food and booze.

And I feel guilty.

Maybe next year I'll feel different, but I wouldn't bet on it.