Be afraid ...

I woke up this morning with Cliff Richard in my head and to paraphrase Jack Crawford "You don't want Cliff Richard inside your head" especially not "Mistletoe and Wine" and even worse NOT the couplet "Christmas time, mistletoe and wine, children singing cristeean rhymes" ... oh my god, does this mean that I am hurtling towards a life of dribbling, knuckle dragging, dementia ... will I start eating flys, or even worse dates (you know, the ones in the absurd shaped box with a picture of a camel on the front) ? Will I shuffle towards the distant twinkling lights of the pound shop window, enter and purchase ... plastic holly.

Christmas is a time for giving ... so everyone I meet this year is going to get herpes !

The only decent memory I have of the festive season is when I made 3D glasses from the outer cellophane wrapping encasing quality street strawberry and (if memory serves) the cocoanut filled chocolates. Oh what fun and I was convinced that The Great Escape was actually 3D. Donald Pleasence seemed to reach out to me and Charles Bronson dug himself right out of the telly ...

I wish I could say that this was thirty odd years ago, when I was a small child,
but I'm afraid it was only two years ago ...
was it the port ?
or was it the mescalin?