This is directed to all of my jewish readers and those of you who are "like so atheist" even though you claim presents, food and dosh in order to celebrate that lad that was done be born with the cattle lowing and the Love Actually in the background with Hugh Grant saying bugger in that cute, slightly daring, look-at-me-I'm-english-middle-class-in-an-awkward-situation-with-a-woman kind of way. This is to inform you that it is Christmas on Friday, so no journal, instead I've got twenty hours of prime medieval assassinations to slash my way through, while at the same time converse with the relatives who will attempt to make a personal connection with the young ragamuffin that used to fly around their yard on a little red tractor. At that stage they will give up, ask when corrie's on, open the celebrations, take the truffles, complain about the weather, ask what I'm going to do when I grow up, give up, watch corrie, scoff Christmas cake, watch a bit of Moulin Rouge, give up, gossip about the bitches on the RTE Guide cover, gulp their tea, stare at the fire, tell me to heave coal out of the shed, go to bed and it will start all over again when the rest of cousins come over the next day.

So please enjoy yourselves, take everything for granted and if you have to lug coal from a shed at half ten at night - put some ice between their sheets.
Seasonal Adieu.