Sights and Sounds of the Season

Ah, these beloved holiday traditions! Some folks sing carols. Some decorate trees. Others, blessed with a relative who cooks, tuck into enormous Christmas feasts. All is marzipan and mistletoe, snow and serenades. Children tear into huge stacks of presents, while parents melt into their easy-chairs, watching the pain of Christmas shopping pay off. Churchgoers mingle. Far-flung families reunite. And somewhere in rainy Vancouver, me and my sister make fun of the Burning Yule Log on Channel 4:

Behold the glory that is the televised Yule Log, complete with [BIG BAND INSTRUMENTAL PIECE] and one of my filthy socks. Hear it spit and crackle! See the flames dance higher and higher! Watch the flight of the festive sparks, and the fall of the festive ash. Marvel at the way it burns and burns, yet never burns away. And then, filled brim-full with the spirit of the season, gather round the telly for a sentimental snapshot:

That's me on the left, in my Chrimbo bling*, and the Grinch on the right, wearing nothing festive whatsoever. Boo, Grinch!

Note that there's an actual fireplace not a foot from where we're sitting, but we're taking photos in front of the TV. Sign of the times, what? Later on, enjoying some Christmas channel-surfing, we stumble upon a hellfire-and-brimstone sermon. We make fun of that, too, affecting crazy American accents, and interspersing cries of "Jer-ry! Jer-ry!" with "Praise the Laawwwwwds!". (Here, me being a berk in .mp3 format. I'm supposed to be some sort of unholy Elmer Gantry/Geraldo Rivera lovechild, I think--bawn and raised in Gawd's country, sort of thing.)

Which is to say, we're having a lovely time, thank you very much, just us and the idiot box. We wish you a silly Christmas, and a barmy new year.

* Torn wrapping paper and a tatty ol' dressing-gown.