right so Christmas has evaporated into the ether like your gran’s brussel sprouts did at around Royle Family time on Christmas Day – much to everyone’s disgust and slight amusement.
Desperate retailers are spoon-feeding various media outlets with the notion that this year’s cut-price stampede is ‘the sale of the century’ – whilst no doubt congratulating themselves on a tenuous nod towards a 60s gameshow, which was rubbish anyway.
And now it is time for New Year celebrations. And I can assure you there is only one good thing comes out of this shower – well, three good things: haggis, neeps and tatties.
I know I should probably wait until Burns’ Night to indulge myself, but while everyone else is coughing up a tenner for the privilege of getting into a stinking pub that’s normally free, in order to wade through 10-deep at the bar queues before stumbling into the street for a fight with the missus and a pop at the poor police who have to work New Years Eve to keep the bovine riff-raff in check – I will be under my sheepskin blanket with a bowlful of joyous offerings from Lady Grundi’s casserole pot. Magic.