Xmas time

What people fail to realise is that Xmas is all about indulgence, overspending, January debt, family arguments, silly hats, going crackers, battery farm fresh turkey fed on turks from turkey (and sarnies for six weeks after), setting fire to cakes, pushing fairys onto the top of pine trees grown in china from fake plastic watering cans and generally getting so drunk, you think everyone looks like Santa.

So enjoy the Winter lights with your Family Presents stuffing yourself with Festive Fodder and the rest of us will go off and don silly hats and sing stupid carols about how good little jesus was visited by three wise asses.

Sushi in Wimbo

Got myself a desk today. It was built by midgets for dwarfs. It's actually a camping table that cost the pauperly sum of $15 from those unfine betrayers of taste and waste, Argos. It was probably knocked out in a sweaty sweatshop by sweaty asians and then shipped across three of the seven seas by a norwegian captain with a crew of polish deckhands on a liner owned by a greek called Steve, only to be sold to a South African Pommie who will discard it for use by squirrels from Richmond in a back garden in Putney.

As I type, it wobbles alarmingly. (beep beep beep beep beep beep beep - thwack !)

That may just be the consumption of english cider and Japanese sushi from Sainsburys, packed by Irish potato farmers out-of-work-russian wives in an Icelandic fish factory. The cider apples are definately British, but the orchards are worked by Afro-weilding-Americans, overseen by a Mexican with a large belly and a sombrero to hide it.

A veritable global pillage of people.