In with the ads for Kitchens, Holidays, Sales and Diets.

Know what? It must be Boxing Day.

In this case,

a ‘disgruntled employee’ of Harrods disabled the correct lights until he could spell out his feelings to Harrods bosses and Christmas shoppers alike. He was removed by security guards after an hour-long stand-off, then handed over to police.

It could be is photoshopped, I don’t know. But it is excellent. (Updated : The story is originally from The Poke, a spoof news site. The original photo pre-photoshop is visible here.)

FO at Christmas

(Story via dashPeriod)

The sign was this : It’s August, and I had a dream about the Festering Season.

Not, thank the Deities, a good dream. Instead it was a dream about Festering Tat being in the stores way too early (again) and me going rather ballistic at the shop-owners/managers who had allowed it to happen.

Very very fucking weird, and I’ve no idea what on earth it’s meant to be about, or what it says about my subconscious.

That is all.

Yet again, you can tell that the Festering Season is over and done with, the fucking Easter Eggs are in the shops!

Tesco, you utter utter bastards.

Well, another nine months, ’til it all starts coming in to the shops again.

Bambi in Lights

The work of a fantastically sick mind.

I Love it.

Yes I know, the Scrooge of the family somehow gets to do the organisation of Christmas Day. Bizarre, but true. And it’s been this way now for three damn years.

In some ways I don’t mind, to be honest. It’s epically demoralising getting the sodding menus in August/September, and then dealing with who’s coming, who’s not, what’s going on, where we’ll be going, and getting back everyone’s menu choices.  It also appeases the control-freak side of my nature, because it means I’ve got it sorted, I know what’s going on, and I know it’s all done.

This year it involves both Herself’s family and mine, which is a new one. My lot are coming up and staying with us over the Festering Season. Fortunately my father and brother are pretty much as Scrooge-esque as me, which’ll help. But still, it’s going to be fairly fraught. (More cynical souls than I would say that the Festering Season was always thus)

For now though, at least it’s all organised. I can go back to being a grumpy old Christmas-loathing bastard – not that that’s a change : just because I’ve organised the sodding day doesn’t mean I don’t still fucking hate it.

Next year, someone else can do it.