Posts Tagged ‘Noddy Holder’

“Christmas is for the children”,
It’s a truth I can’t deny,
The presents, songs and snow fall,
On those you can rely.

But adulthood became a chore,
An annual long, exhausting drive
Between the two headline events,
To keep our parents’ hopes alive.

For many years I tried to keep
December’s clutches at arms’ length,
But as each passing year sweeps by
I just don’t have the strength.

Its claws dig deep and earlier,
And pierce my inattentive heart;
No more indifferently immune
To its sharp, insidious dart.

Despite my ears that are assailed
Through October, November long
By Aled, Pogues, Mud, Wings and Wham,
And that infernal Slade sing-song.

Large family revelries now in the past,
Dear parents, and their parents, long gone,
Diluting the shimmer of the show and
Bequeathing a muted and less joyful throng.

But now it is again a welcome treat –
Panto, choral concerts, feasts and plays,
Tours of dazzling lights at Leeds and Kew,
“German” market trips and shopping days.

The season’s music never fails to thrill:
King’s College Cambridge, Ella, Bing and Dean,
Perennial playlist for the biggest day of all,
Soundtrack to a merry Christmas scene.

Vintage movies too take pride of place,
Dusted down from off the topmost shelf,
A Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street,
It’s A Wonderful Life, Love Actually and Elf.

So here I am now, two weeks to go,
Already neatly labelled and wrapped tight,
Unlike the presents I have yet to buy,
Far too early yet for that “delight”!

Is it age that makes me reconnect?
A sign that days are hastening on?
A desperate clinging to an ideal past,
Now the future is uncertain, short or long?

Is it my childhood Christian faith,
Gently prodded by my parents’ mind,
That now provokes renewed affection;
No – that has long been left behind.

If it is one thing, it is the music
That still inspires and enraptures me,
Uniting my juvenile and recent years,
Inducing tears to flow from memory.

So I look forward now to Christmas,
The kids, the carols and the theatre live,
The turkey, sprouts, exchange of gifts
And even that long northbound drive.

But one disturbing image still remains –
I won’t be able to suppress a groan
When Noddy Holder clears his throat
And yells “It’s Christmas” to everyone!


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The scene is a large supermarket in the south east of England at 6pm on the eve of Christmas Eve.  A constant and grating loop of seventies pop songs is playing instead of a school choir or Salvation Army Band.

Helpless men between the ages of 18 and 60, who would prefer to be still in the pub, shuffle outside The Perfume Shop and La Senza, summoning the courage to approach the giggling female assistants in their last minute hunt for that perfect present that might, at least for now, persuade their wife or girlfriend to see them in the light that they did when they first met.

A middle aged couple are doing their last minute food shopping for the “big day”.  Although they have already bought many of the Christmas-specific items – party food, snacks, chocolate – they bicker over whether they have enough to satisfy the army – alias the man’s father – who will descending upon them tomorrow, and the neighbours who will be calling in for drinks on Boxing Day afternoon.

Why are we getting bottles of apple and orange juice when we know that Jean likes wine and Peter will want a beer?  We don’t drink it and we are going away on Tuesday (the husband is forced to repeat this over the increasingly manic strains of Noddy Holder).

You say that, but that was last year – they may not be able to drink alcohol any more, they’re not getting any younger y’know.

(“So here it is, Merry Christmas”).

And why do we need to get sweet biscuits and pork pies which neither of us eat, and will only end up going home with my dad?

(“Everybody’s having fun”).

Well, he can take them home then can’t he, it’s not a problem.

(“Look to the future now”).

And we don’t need the extravagance of a Christmas tablecloth and napkins, I for one am happy to eat off a normal one.

But it’s Christmas and I want it to be special, and that’s the end of it (the husband ponders whether The Perfume Shop accepts returns BEFORE Christmas).

(“It’s only just begun”).

We will leave them now to plan their Christmas Eve search for parsnips and brussel sprouts, both of which have been ransacked earlier in the day.

A teenage couple with a small baby are trying to arrange a short term loan that, judging by the girl’s industrial language on her mobile phone, is meeting with as much success as Joseph and Mary’s efforts at securing a room at the inn.

In a quiet corner of a busy café, whilst her weary, shopping-laden mother sips a caramel macchiato, a three year old girl, oblivious to everything around her, with eyes alight and blonde curls swaying in unison, sings a medley of Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

So here it is.

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