The Reverend Aloysius Brown, model for the inquisitive parson name-checked Walking In A Winter Wonderland, would surely have disapproved of snowman building, especially in such a willfully disrespectful manner as that detailed in the famous and festive song. He was a gaunt and severe man, prone to nervous spasms of screaming obscure passages of blood-curdling scripture at his only friend and companion, a cowering and mangy mastiff called Agrippa, and it is safe to assume that the Reverend would have cut a darkly ominous figure in that wintry landscape; a character more at home with funeral rites than with nuptial celebrations. Indeed, it is absolutely unthinkable that Reverend Brown would have agreed to perform in any marriage ceremony involving those two (obviously inebriated) snowman-building reprobates who narrate Walking In A Winter Wonderland, even if he were unfortunate enough to find himself "in town" on the designated date.
Dancing frenziedly around some vertical totem to repetitive rhythms is a primal human instinct, whether it is the cannibalistic Ogzobi tribe and their fertility god symbol or middle management and their office Christmas tree. Personally I prefer the music at the Ogzobi festivities, but that's just my opinion. Their fire-water is also vastly superior to our case of Stella Artois and bargain bin Pinot Noir, although when it comes to party finger-food I draw the line at Ogzobian petit-fours (apparently they discard the thumbs along with most of the elbow meat).
Still, however awful the prospect may be, you must wear the mask of jollity and join the merry throng in decorated conference room or torch-lit jungle clearing; become trapped into a tedious discussion about fax paper protocol with that idiot from sales, or a dreary symposium on spear-sharpening with the headhunter from the hut next door; pretend that you really like the seasonally scented candle from your Secret Santa, even if it actually smells like a reindeer stable after feeding time, which it undoubtedly will, or grudgingly agree that the Chief can have the extra eyeball, which you know damn well that he'll snatch up anyway.
Such is human nature and its proclivities at group gatherings. The uncivilized gatecrash the uncivilized, whether it is the Ogzobi tribe and their ancestor-disrespecting outcasts or middle management and its greasy lounge lizards. Ah yes, company revelry: the flesh is always willing but the spirit is forever weak.
Greetings folk,
In order to promote diversity and awareness at this year's nativity play we will be making one of the three wise men a woman. Her name will be Afghanastasia and she will be bringing the gift of myrhh for our symbolic Peace Child, as well as two free condoms and a pamphlet outlining current gay, lesbian and transgender issues in the Bethlehem community.
After the presentation of the gifts we will join hands in a chorus of Red Flag, Jingle Bells and a medley of Michael Jackson hits. Fu Chung will once again be singing the role of Nelson Mandela, Sal Goldberg will sing Confucius, Brother Hussein will sing Joan of Arc, and Phyllis MacCatholick will mime the Ghost of Christmas Recyclable.
A selection of herbal teas and rice cakes will be served at intermission and the Merry Mops team will be cleaning up all the sick as usual.
