CHRISTMAS - Cynics might argue that Christmas has been hijacked by spivs and numbskulls. For many, certainly, the festival is now dominated by the monstrous American import Claus. In the House of Coe, however, the spirit of St Nicholas prevails! The traditionally decked hall echoes with laughter and lusty renditions of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' and 'Feed the World' (a modern concession to the younger set). Paper hats are worn at an angle indicative of derangement and 'howlers' are exchanged to a chorus of good natured groans. Only Spencer, who has professed loathing toward Christmas since our parents gave him a Spanish guitar rather than the Fender Telecaster he expected, remains aloof, skulking in his room for the duration, only occasionally emerging to forage for alcohol.
Throughout our childhood, ironically, I was the one excluded. For successive Christmases between the ages of seven and eleven, I was confined to bed by viruses caused by a depletion of the immune system. This is a common problem for children of enhanced intuition subjected to the sensory bombardment entailed by the modern Christmas. Shopping centres should be particularly avoided. As a seven year old, briefly separated from my parents in Fraser's, I was overwhelmed by a terrifying vision in which Christmases past, present and future collided around the fulcrum of a dark, mossy stone, stained with blood of sacrifice. I could only watch helplessly as the creatures of Christmas darted into the sea of faces and emerged with a gentleman in Victorian garb. His long, pleasant face writhed with anguish as they dragged him toward the stone. I've consequently carried a sprig of misteltoe at Christmas, not to elicit kisses, but to ward off the primal forces whose association with the festival precedes our own.
Parents of psychic children should apprise themselves of other Christmas related risks. A straightforward trip to the pantomime, for example, where actors blithely exchange genders, bellow pop songs and goad the audience, is fraught with potential for trauma. Even the least sensitive child, meanwhile, can be unsettled by the experience of being bounced roughly upon the knee of an reprobate with an aura the colour of suicide and false whiskers attached to his cheeks. (While the introduction of mandatory background checks has done much to identify the parasites who traditionally used Christmas as a means of attaining temporary employment, it's incumbent upon parents to protect clairvoyant children from malign impressions. By referring to guidelines supplied by the Hamilton Coe Foundation, however, they can ensure that nobody misses out on any of the fun.)
For Drumfeld children, incidentally, the name Hamilton Coe is as closely associated with Christmas as cards, crackers and turkey. It's four years since the popular military historian, Hugh Mortimer, was hospitalised with a kidney stone only hours before he was scheduled to switch on Drumfeld's Christmas lights . Rather than allow the occasion be soured by anti-climax, I stepped into the breach at less than forty-five minute's notice. According to Spencer, at least seven other candidates were approached before I was spotted "lurking hopefully" in the vicinity. Total rot! My brother wasn't even in Drumfeld at the time but Christine and Muriel will both confirm that if I was "lurking" anywhere that day it was in bed with a heavy cold.
My own memory of the occasion is limited on account of the flu medication I was taking at the time. Christine's video recording, however, preserves a thirty minute rumination on the spirit of Christmas in the Age of the Sadist the poignancy of which caused several of my listeners to be overcome by symptoms traditionally associated with epiphany. As I concluded my address and flicked the switch which, had it not been for a faulty connection, would have illuminated Drumfeld, I was transfixed by an unbearable sensation of nostalgia for the Christmases of my childhood. This was immediately followed by a surge of electricity which caused Drumfeld to be momentarily bathed in a celestial glow before an explosion precipitated total darkness. Had it not been for my presence of mind and authoritative handling of the situation, the ensuing panic might have had disastrous consequences.
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