Ho Ho Ho

Merry Christmas!

Why do we always eat so much? Why are twenty Yorkshire puddings never enough.

Okay, Yorkshire puddings don't go with turkey. Okay, they go with roast beef. Okay, I'm a Hindu and eating cow is forbidden. Okay, therefore we have Yorkshire pudding binges whenever we fancy, Christmas day being one of those occasions.

I have every faith each one of you will have either 1) received all you ever wanted 2)found the receipt at the bottom of the bag in case you didn't. When will old people realise that the woolen cardigan you loved aged 12 doesn't draw quite the same love aged 22?

'Oh! it's lovely! Just what I've always wanted.'

'And before you ask, no, he didn't come down the chimney. Nor did he fill up my stocking with cock rings and butt plugs quite the way I'd imagined. In fact, I'm starting to doubt whether he actually exists. And as for placing a carrot at the edge of the fireplace (just in case he decides to bring old Rudolph) well, Ugh.

Though, all in all, an exciting day of food and board games. I managed quite successfully to coerce a game of Monopoly AND Cluedo out of the younger cousins. And we ate so much, and continued to eat until about half an hour ago.

A Christmas mention must go to the Vicar of Dibley, hilarious (and the man, so dashing)! And Little Britain, perfect! The thing about the festive period is the abundance of lively programmes splattered across the television. And not a single James Bond movie in sight. Finally, living in this country doesn't seem so problematic.

And now to the sex.

A Christmas shag - Having devoured half a turkey and copious amounts of sprouts, my cock, I fear, wouldn't respond to Pamela Anderson spread over Christmas platter in the same way (if at all). How a stuffed turkey can be stuffed even further is beyond me. Although, in this world, there's always one woman who can fit just that extra bit in so that it comes tumbling out upon carving.

On a separate issue, anybody find a pound coin in their christmas pud? The thought did occur to me not so long before today to drop in a fruit flavoured extra durable condom, though I soon realsied people mightn't find it as funny as I.

So, back to the sex, although the festive season is upon us, I wonder just how many people have a necessary Christmas shag. In fact, I wonder just how many Christians will. Funny that, considering we're celebrating immaculate conception.

My personal erotic festive cheer, it has to be said, comes from the Mistletoe. Stick it in the air, up your bottom, and demand a kiss. Genius. If I were in London, I'd go to Heaven with a sprig of Mistletoe and come back ready for a threesome. I wonder if a star would lead the three wise men back to my bedroom. Or whether an Inn keeper might spare us a bed (king size) for the night.

No doubt we have a flurry of 'Heat' magazines to look forward to ('How to lose all the Christmas pounds in three days.' How to slip out unnoticed from a strangers bed, with whom you spent the night after the office party.' 'Thirty uses of a brussel sprout: two of which are guaranteed to turn him on'.) And besides this, we'll have Michelle McManus vowing to becoming the size 8 she never was. I know it's a terrible thing to be so opposed to obese women who make fake promises, but I can't stand her. She'll forever be the girl who won pop idol because she was fat. Forever. And well, where is she now? Sunk. Quite literally.