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Neil Prendeville - 20th December E-mail
Written by Staff Reporter   
Thursday, 20 December 2007

Well it’s finally arrived, Christmas with all the trimmings, me I love Christmas, if it wasn’t for the excesses of rich food and booze, too many relatives, too much clutter that lingers for days, especially if like me, you have an 11 and 13 year old who’d need a GPS system to find the bin. 

There’s also an overdose of rubbish on TV as well as an excess of people in pubs and restaurants turning most of them into no-go areas for people like me who like a bit of comfort.  Even before I became the 40-something that I am, I always fancied a stool at the bar and liked having my drinks order heard the first time, I never really understood the joy that people get out of being packed together like sardines where they have to scream their order to the bar man only to spill half of it as they meander their way back to their “spot” which invariably is gone on their return. Oh! The joys of it, (I don’t think!) Christmas also sees the excess of human emotions brought on by a combination of cabin fever and alcohol, a week or more off work in the winter is simply too much, there is only so much turkey curry, mince pies and wine that you can swallow and there are only so many wake up calls that you can accept by volcanic heart burn or an all consuming hangover.  TV offers no relief either despite the promises of Sky Plus, the damned Willy Wonka seems to penetrate all 407 channels!  There will be afternoon’s spent making Lego racing cars, where you’ll end up one piece short and  Scrabble will end in fights over whether or not moxy is a real word.  Being the father of one teenager and one who thinks she is a teenager has taught that they’ll never back down, because they really do believe that they know everything and that we parents, know sweet shag all.  But I have no intention of giving in; I’ll fight my corner for the next 9 years!   So on reflection, perhaps Christmas should come with a health warning and maybe we should rename it the season of excesses because there are many of them, including fun and laughter, slowing down and catching up.  So despite all of the madness that comes with the festive season I can honestly admit to liking Christmas with all of it’s memories and traditions of the past as well as the foundations of memories for the future that we’re building with our own families and friends.     

As I write Pat the Picket is in Jail, for kicking the courthouse door. He was protesting (in a Santa suit) on behalf of the dozens of homeless people who will be on the streets of Cork this Christmas time. The world needs characters like Pat Allen, in this all too PC world and Jail is the last place this fifty something should be cooling his heels. I figure a couple of guards took offence at his silly outburst and decided to haul him before the court which was sitting only a few feet away. Very convenient I suppose. Not so convenient for the two cops who ignored a drunken man swaying in and out of the cars during the week harassing motorists and frightening children. They conveniently walked on, pretending not to notice. I suppose they didn’t need the grief of arresting a drunk and hauling him back to the bridewell. Pat the picket was a soft touch, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shame the same zeal isn’t shown by our courts when it comes to the suspended sentences handed down to drug users, dealers, rapists and paedophiles. What was it a judge said recently while letting go a geezer with €12,000 of cannabis? “ maybe it’s the festive season but I’m going to give you a second chance”.

Speaking of homelessness. I had to go to work Christmas day, about two years ago, to fill in for a guy who couldn’t make it. While it was fine venturing in at about 2pm I found the city centre a depressing place to walk and drive through when it got dark around 5pm. It was late afternoon, Christmas day and all the hustle and bustle of the previous weeks was over. All that was left were homeless men and women, refugees and asylum seekers wandering around the city streets, hanging around corners, rigid with boredom. The drunks were swigging out of bottles or lying asleep in doorways. It makes you think that while the traditional aspects of Christmas are lovely, the wanton waste and commercialism, the must have bigger, better, and more, is sickening and it’s getting worse every year. 


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