Happy Xmas to you, happy Xmas to you …
Dec 23
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Here’s a little Xmas story I wrote for my writing group, for your reading pleasure. It’s called Bah Humbug. Happy Xmas and New Year, Headless Hollow readers. Time is precious—thanks for spending a little of yours here.
Usually, the first indication that another bloody Christmas is about to hit comes when I’m walking around my local shopping centre, happily minding my own business, and I suddenly realise with mounting horror that Christmas Carols are playing over the sound system. And not just any Christmas Carols these days, oh no. The people who make these decisions have decided to blend two of the worst forms of auditory torture known to mankind—a combination which I hereby christen “Carols and Carey”. The songs are the same tired old favourites that get trotted out year after year, but now they are sung by the most atrocious, screeching harridans that the American music industry can produce. This produces the kind of irritating and prolonged cacophony that one might hear should your dear Aunt Agatha, who fancies herself a bit of an Opera buff, accidently stumble backwards into the stove and put her hand on a hot plate with her full weight behind it. A relatively peaceful shopping expedition becomes akin to a trip through that special Circle of Hell reserved for people who use leaf blowers on a Sunday morning.
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