It’s not Chrimbo 
until Noddy says so

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SORRY, but despite the fact that I’ve dredged the very depths of my mind – in the manner of a scallop fisherman – nothing is coming to the surface this week except ... Christmas.

I probably have that in common with a scallop fisherman – not the Christmas thing, but the fact that, as not much is coming to mind for me, sometimes not a lot comes up off the sea bed for the scallop fishers. If you follow.

Not that I condone the sea-bed being raked to bits for its bounty. I don’t. I am merely using the scallop fishers to illustrate my state of mind, although whilst idly Googling (the new doodling, I reckon) scallop fishing, I was pleased to note that most scallop fishers are now joining a sustainable fishing scheme in which they work with marine conservationists in order to protect sensitive and important marine environments.

Although to my mind, all marine environments are sensitive and should be protected. The sea is an amazing thing that makes up such a big part of our planet it deserves not to go the same way as the land bit of earth, which we have fairly comprehensively wrecked already.

Anyhoo, I digress as usual. Back to the point. Christmas. That time of year that we spend about six months getting over (financially) and six months preparing for (emotionally). And by emotionally, I don’t mean worrying about spending a couple of days in enforced jollity with that aunt you really don’t like. You know, the one that comes down for a couple of days (because she dislikes your company as much as you dislike hers) and is all cardigan and opinions. I never had one, but I know lots and lots of folk who do.

Visiting uncles are a lot easier, just park then in a corner with a can of stout and they’re as happy as Larry. No opinions whatsoever, just grateful to be fed and watered for a couple of days, which they pass in an alcoholic haze before you pop them back on the train up to Perth, or wherever.

No, the emotional bit is the whole ‘getting into the zone’ thing. When does it officially start? When the local garden centre puts out its Xmas displays? When they play Xmas songs on radio? When you’ve made your Christmas cake and/or pudding? Personally, I think it’s when Noddy Holder screams: “It’s Chrisssssss-maaaaassssss!”

Anyhoo, finally, back to Chrimbo. The Christmas adverts have hit the telly. Kids’ TV programmes have been banned at Shoogly Towers until February, due to the proliferation of toy adverts. No Chrimbo list in the world is long enough to add that little lot on to.

The lists at Shoogly nippers’ lists this year are as eclectic as ever – a dog suit to dress up in, an autograph book, spare Scalextric cars and tablet.

That’s the kind of tablet that rots your teeth, by the way, not the type you browse th’internet on. Bless.