And so this is Christmas

So it wasn't a bad Christmas, as Christmases go - how about yours? Oh sure, there wasn't a Ferrari (red) under the tree, or a Triumph Bonneville (black), or a wide screen HDTV (any color), or any of the other trifles which would make my life on this earth just that little bit pleasanter. And I was able to procure a train set all by myself this year so for once, wasn't expecting Santa to come up with one. Still, I made a modest but satisfying haul largely based around my fondness for quality alcohol and British food.

I'm long past the age of needing to be up at the crack of sparrowfart to see what Santa has brought - I'm well aware of his "naughty or nice" technicality and as I've been nailed by it more often than not, Christmas morning doesn't hold the same thrall it did back in simpler times. We have some friends who routinely open their gifts midway through Christmas Eve, others who check them out as soon as they receive them. Me, I can happily wait until the day itself and instead, was looking forward to my first lie-in for months. It wasn't to be of course. The World's Most Irritating Dog ™ had us awake and cursing long before the sun had put in an appearance.

Once I was dressed and had spent several minutes shivering outdoors, there was little point in going back to bed and even though it was only morning by a mere technicality, Dear Wife was awake too so we decided to commence the gift grab. As I said, it was a modest Christmas and this didn't take particularly long so we had the presents unwrapped, the oohing and aahing completed and torn paper and empty boxes out in the bin before most sensible people were even awake. Just like being a kid again.

Back in mediaeval times, when I could be classified as a kid (physically, not just mentally) my parents used to impose a rule that they couldn't be woken until 7am, whether Santa had visited or not. Maybe it was 4am, I don't recall but I do remember it seemed ridiculously late. Of course they were awake anyway because my sister and I used to sit in the hallway outside their bedroom counting off the minutes, but they didn't actually surface until they were good and ready. Which meant presents couldn't be opened until the old folks officially declared Christmas Day had commenced. Wish I had that kind of obedience from my dogs.

I seem to remember Christmas going on a lot longer back in those days too. Not just in the sense that there were more presents (although there were) but that the day itself was much more of an event. I'm sure it would be different if we had kids in the house but other than the brief spell of gift opening, the day itself wasn't a whole lot different from any other. Maybe it's changed now but when I was growing up in Britain the TV companies pulled out all the stops to put on their best programming with Christmas specials and spectacular variety bonanzas. This went on for two to three weeks. Looking at the TV guide, I see our stations here just put out the same reality TV, trailer trash talk shows and celebrity worship garbage that I ignore the rest of the year.

One advantage of the early start was of course, that I had plenty of time to get things done. I was able to walk the pupsters, do some yoga, practice my drumming and still had time for a lie down before it was time to get ready to head out for Christmas dinner. It was at the house of some friends this year; an intimate little affair of just them, us and about thirty other people.

It began with such traditional Christmas activities as firing potato guns of the deck and peppering the side of an old jeep with paintballs; just like they did in Dickens' day. By the time we had that out of our systems, the yard was strewn with enough mashed potato to keep every skunk in the neighborhood fat and happy 'till spring, while the jeep looked like something which might be driven by the Partridge Family. If it had an engine that is.

Target shooting got a little harder, but not impossible, as the sun began to drop, but finally, dinner was served. Turkeys of two varieties; Cajun spice injected and deep fried to perfection; and reg'lar style. Mashed spuds, veggies, salad, yams, breads, oh I could go on for ever - and very nearly did. There weren't enough seats, so some stood, some sat on the floor, some on the deck outside, others just shared stools, cheek to cheek. But everybody ate their fill and speaking for myself; I had to work hard to leave enough room for me beer.

The Guinness didn't last as long as I'd hoped - I think the pixies must have been drinking it; but the hostesses had thoughtfully provided a large bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label to help lubricate my vocal cords. Even so, I suspect I left the cap off a little too long because it seemed to evaporate rather quickly. Fortunately, Dear Wife had the car keys as I suspect Park County's tax collectors, who were out in force, may have paid me more attention than I would have liked. I'll was aware that I'd had my share, so with a maturity I don't often show; I decided to forego my usual nightly dram and headed straight to bed.

Which meant that to my pleasant surprise, I awoke remarkably hangover free the next morn, and was even able to manage a short run before breakfast. How very virtuous of me, don't you agree?

So Santa, ya listening? That's got to be worth at least a Triumph Bonneville (black) next year, huh?