Twas the night after Christmas

Well the Christmas season continues apace and I’m having a pretty good one so far. It’s been very relaxing and despite the phenomenal cost of everything I’ve really enjoyed it. Just to prove that I’m not a total curmudgeon I even wore a paper hat, pulled a cracker and blew a squeaker on the big day itself.

I also received some great presents: – Aramis aftershave from the sister-in-law (It looks like Camella thinks I smell… and she’s probably right); chocolates (great present for a fat man that); a poker dice game (I’m already twenty quid up); some SuDoku books (Mrs H hopes that these will keep me quiet and stop me shouting whilst she’s watching Corrie); a mulled wine kit and a hangover cure kit (very important these and both are of course needed… one after the other); Comedy DVDs (Fawlty Towers… you can’t beat it can you!); a barometer/thermometer (so as I can measure when the atmosphere gets frosty in the house when Mrs H takes the huff and I struggle to understand what I’ve done); a glass that holds two and a half pints of beer (my family know me oh so well as you can see); a set of three rubber ducks for the bathtub (as used by my all time hero - Ernie off of Sesame Street… you haven’t lived until you’ve seen him perform the ‘Rubber Duck Reggae’); and a set of two monogrammed handkerchiefs (not such a good present this as I think that it’s extremely unhygienic to sneeze or blow your nose into a piece of cloth and then put it back into your pocket or up your sleeve) - I suppose that I’ll keep them just in case I ever take up Morris Dancing!

I didn’t receive any pairs of socks or underpants this year so it looks like I’ll have to buy my own in the January sales – what’s the world coming to when a man has to buy his own undercrackers after Christmas eh? It’s a case of neglect by the family that’s what!

The Christmas Day festivities themselves were great - apart from a throat infection that stopped me drinking after 2pm on Christmas day (and I’ve not had a drink since) but otherwise it all went off well. New Year is now on the horizon and with it comes the uplifting feelings of the chance of a new start mixed with the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia for times past and the mournful memories of those who have been lost to us.

These feelings of loss and longing can be so powerful that some of us will go to extraordinary lengths to get in contact with those who have passed away – and there are also those who are despicable enough to relieve us of our money to try!

For instance, there are some members of my family who have an irrational belief in the power of psychic theatre shows, séances and mediums. A few of them have been to shows and personal readings and say that the psychic or medium could not possibly have known about some of the personal things that they were told. I have four problems with this whole scene:

1) Why would you go to a medium to find out things you already know anyway? Where’s the insight in detail. Tell me who will win the 3.30 at Sandown on Saturday or next week’s lottery numbers and I will believe!

2) The content of a reading does not ever stand up to scientific scrutiny when performed under controlled experimental conditions. (James Randi, the celebrated American magician and sceptic has offered one million dollars in bonds for anyone who can do this – a few have tried but so far all have failed).

3) The theatre style psychic shows are no better than magic shows. Do people really believe that Derren Brown, for example, actually reads minds? No… of course they don’t because he doesn’t claim to – we all know that he’s an illusionist. So why should they believe some other fool in a suit doing the same thing who says that he’s a psychic?

4) Doris Stokes was a celebrated medium and although she is very, very dead she hasn’t bothered to contact us to tell us that she’s OK and enjoying the afterlife with her wings and harp.

Just remember, if you are invited to a ludicrous theatre psychic show there is one easy way to stop the proceedings in their tracks, expose the “psychic” for the charlatan that he (or she) is and get yourself thrown out of the theatre all at the same time. When the white suited buffoon on the stage goes into a trance and starts saying something along the lines of “I’ve got someone calling from the other side who is called John (or Bill or Fred or Tarquin or whoever)… Just shout back “What’s his surname?” and get ready to get thrown out by the burly minders.


It’s also going to be Mrs H’s birthday this Saturday so instead of paying to visit a psychic to find out what she wants as a present I actually decided to ask her. I was presently surprised when she replied that as a birthday treat she wants to go and see Pools play on Saturday – the first time in God knows how many years that she has been to a match. I get to go along as well and it’s going to be great (assuming that we win of course!). C’mon Pools!

I hope you had a great Christmas and that you have a very Happy New Year… If you can recall what happened afterwards then you probably didn’t have a good time!

Cheers!

Headlander

Just to make you groan, here’s the joke that popped out of my Christmas cracker at dinner on December 25th:

Q) Why did one of Santa’s toy makers visit the psychiatrist?

A) Because he was suffering from low elf esteem!