andygates

Call me a surly bastard if you like, but dear Gods, I can't hack the Chrimbo shopping this year.  The heaving biomass is heaving more than usual, there's some mad woman dressed as a giant robin being perky, and to cap it all, none of the shops have anything except tat.  And not even funny tat, just bling tat and abject nonsense (extreme sports branded moisturiser? FFS!).  And then I go into a sort of consumer stammer, and can't remember anything to get until I'm in a totally different shop failing to get something else entirely...  gah!

So if nobody gets anything from me this year, it's because I've given up on shopping and decided to buy a few pints of marine diesel for the Steve Irwin and the others in the Sea Shepherd fleet, instead. 

All cultures and all traditions have a midwinter-ish celebration.  In the ur-Calendar, it is known as the Feast of Thank Feck It's Over.