Bar Humbug.

My very good friends,

I confess to you all that I tend to get a bit of the bar humbugs about me around this time of year.

I don’t really understand why that is. As a child I loved Christmas. I still treasure memories of Christmas past that I shared with cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents and brothers and sisters and a few other people who seemed to have some sort of biological connection to me that I never rally got to the bottom of.

I have vivid memories of marvellous presents. Most of them had little monetary value but carried with them instead the message that somebody cared, that somebody knew what fascinated me – that someone understood me.

And I have certainly had, during my time on this planet, far more evidence to support the existence of Santa Claus than I have had supporting the existence of Jesus Christ. The idea of either is preposterous, of course, but, in terms of delivery of promise (and this may be a very personal experience) I have found Santa the more reliable of the two.

But I digress.

The one ‘Christmas Message’ that really appeals to me has something to to with ‘goodwill to all men’. It is a rather old sentiment and I don’t think we should take it too literally. The original author did not want, I am sure, to exclude women as beneficiaries. It was just the way they said things back then. It doesn’t really mean ‘all men’ – it means ‘all people’.

The most important word in that old phrase, anyway, as far as I am concerned, is ‘all’. The word ‘all’, for those of you without easy access to a dictionary, means ‘all’. And so ‘All people’ means ‘all’ people.

It doesn’t mean people you are related to, it doesn’t mean people who are nice to you, or people you might want to sleep with, it doesn’t mean people who like the same God as you, it doesn’t mean people who’s skin colour matches yours or people who support your football team.

It means ‘all’ people.

You might not really like some of these people. Because some of them are, let’s face it, absolute fuckwits. You wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire.

And I am not suggesting that you should invite, in for a drink this Christmas Eve, the weird guy who stands by the telephone box on the park directly across from your apartment every night wearing a soiled grey overcoat and running shoes and stares at you. That would be silly.

But might it not be nice, just for a couple of days this time of year, to have only good thoughts of others? Just for 48 hours be totally non-judgemental? It’s not as easy as it sounds, I grant you. Especially when no-one else seems to be doing it. And even the person sitting directly across from you at Christmas lunch (your sister, probably) insists on loudly describing some drunken social indiscretion that you might have committed twenty years ago.

But I urge you to try anyway.

I won’t be. I’ve given up.

Bar Humbug.

December 17. I almost missed it.

Seriously …. I almost did. If not for a reminder from Michael I would have forgotten about it all together. Such is the nature of life.

And that, I suppose, is exactly my point. Today is important. There is only one today. Don’t just forget about it. Make the most of it.

I invite you all, therefore, to provide your thoughts on this special day. Don’t try too hard – don’t waste too much of the day doing spell checks. Life is too short, sometimes, for correct grammar.

Here are a few thoughts of my own.

Tomorrow will be

In its way

Just the same as


What will be

Already been

All you see

Already seen

Embrace the truth

Don’t look away

Grab this moment

Come what may

Let the instant

Reign supreme

Today December


AND …..

Far horizon

Distant dawn

Watch today

As now is born

I see no reason

Hear no rhyme

That brought about

This place in time

Just hold it close

Don’t let it go

There is no other truth

To know

It’s happening

It’s now. It’s here

It’s just begun

It’s end is near

It’s that time of year. News of Jesus.

This is not mine. I lifted it from elsewhere. But it appealed to today’s mood ….


THE HEAVENS—Admitting that He almost couldn’t bear to look at those old speeches from his Nazareth days, the Lord Jesus Christ told reporters Monday that He was super embarrassed about all that stupid shit He said 2,000 years ago. “Man, I was into some really weird religious mumbo-jumbo back then; all those long-winded, preachy parables I told my apostles are just so not me,” said Christ of the multiple sermons He gave, many of which He now views as pretentious and overwrought, adding that He was only 30 years old and still learning how to be the messiah. “Honestly, if I had known that people were going to write down everything I said and turn it into the New Testament, I probably would have been more careful with my words. I deeply regret uttering any of that ‘love thy neighbor’ shit. I hated the inconsiderate assholes who lived next door. Man, just thinking about me blathering on during the Sermon on the Mount, I totally get why Pontius Pilate wanted to crucify me.” Christ, who described his many miracles as “cringeworthy,” also conceded that He was still pretty proud of that time when He multiplied those fish and the loaves of bread

December 17

Everybody I know is very excited about this year’s December 17. Last year the day was an absolute fizzer and I simply cannot allow that to happen again. All sorts of gift ideas have been popping up in my feed and I am still open to those ideas, of course, but Kate’s suggestion of poetry seems the most appropriate.

So I am gathering together a collection of poems as a celebration of the special day. December 17 and I both have a short attention span so these contributions should be brief and come in any form that appeals to the writer. I am not a big one for stifling creative minds by over direction so there is no real theme. Anything that would tickle the fancy of December 17 will be perfect.

My pal, Rugby843, notes that it is a day to tell someone that you love them … so run with that idea if you like (and you don’t even have to mean it).

It doesn’t even have to be poetry, really … it might be a drawing or a photo …. or anything at all, in fact. The celebration of December 17 should be an expression of artistic freedom – and of freedom in general.

I have no idea of what to do with any contributions, mind you. I don’t really know how they should be presented. Any suggestions in that regard would also be most welcome.

Mark your calendars

I have been reading, this morning, about the fact that December has started. It is a time, it would appear, for reflection. I’ve read a lot about ‘what a year it has been for me’ and I have read all about people’s achievements and about their personal growth over the preceding eleven months. Nobody seems to hold great hopes for December itself, though. They are already beckoning in another year. Sorry December. Please step aside and let us through.

The focal point for the month, to be sure, is towards the end and I suppose I can understand the excitement of getting there. But it must make a date like, say, December 12, feel a bit inferior and a bit pointless. This year I might hold a celebration of some sort on December 17 – in the name of diurnal equality.

My mother, incidentally, was born on December 25. What rotten luck.

But if I am to get all reflective myself then I’d have to admit to having achieved absolutely nothing so far this year. Based on form it is unreasonable to anticipate great successes in the next 31 days either. Last year was much the same. I have gotten a bit lazier and fatter, I suppose, but this is not so much an achievement but rather just part of the evolutionary process. I was discussing with a friend last night (over a glass of wine. Or two) the idea of devolution …. she was wondering if it were possible to go backwards in the process. She had noticed that those around her were growing gradually more stupid. She may have been referring to me.

The idea is a nonsense, as far as I can tell, for it assumes that there is a direction in all of this – some sort of destination for the great ship of fools. But there is no up or down, no east or west. Nowhere to go. So just relax. And stop trying to steer. We will all get there soon enough and when we do we will realise that there is here and then is now. We have already arrived.

But try to set aside a little time for December 17, just the same. Try to make it feel special.

I may have lied to you

There is very little that a man will not do to get into a woman’s pants. Don’t look away. Don’t pretend to be shocked. You all know that it’s true.

In the big scale of deceit I don’t think that a few exaggerations spoken in the name of love should ruffle too many feathers. Lies are just the male equivalent of lipstick. If it gets a bit smudged in the heat of passion then nobody really cares.

My friend Kate spoke on the subject (or perhaps she was speaking of something else … who can tell with women?) and I replied. I stress to you (that do not already know) that Kate is a close relative.

It would be improper for me to have such thoughts about her ….

My mission here will always be
Avoidance of reality
I cheat, I lie, I stand aloof
I fib, I falsify the truth
I make up stuff.
And I invent
The stories that I hope
You asking questions
Checking facts
Before allowing
Sordid acts
Upon your person
On your skin
Seeking passage
Deep within
Please don’t forsake me
Don’t reject
The falsehood
That I now project
Forgive my fiction
Let me stay
You are just like me