h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

It has been a busy week in the Holme Valley. Frost, snow, wind , raid, and then frost again, and finally snow. As I sit typing this, on Boxing Day, in my little office at the top of the house, we have the central heating on both sides, Colin's and ours, plus the stove going full blast, and I am still wearing a poncho, an alpaca woolly hat, and on top of that a fleece bobble hat, and I have at my elbow a warming nip of Talisker. And I am STILL cold. I must look like Chris Bonington crossed with Clint Eastwood.

The animals have all made the most of Christmas. All of the cats have got new collars and Tig has got a personalised dog blanket and a squeaky goose toy. Russell refused to take his tablet on Christmas morning, even when wrapped in chicken breast, but what he didn't reckon on was that Deb's mother (aka the Neigbourhood Witch) was coming round, and that he would be sized by strong women, rolled in a towel, and have his pill popped down him with one of those thingies from the vet specially crafted for giving cats tablet without getting yourself clawed to shreds. His dignity ruffled, he retreated behind a chair, unnoticed until he made a daring comeback, three quarters of the way through Christmas dinner, when he leapt onto the table, nicked a chunk of Brie, clingfilm and all, and was off under the kitchen units with it clamped in his jaws before anyone could move a muscle to stop him. We all froze, sprouts on forks half way to our open mouths, aghast, and I uttered a silent and heartfelt prayer of thanks that he was well enough to do commit that theft, bearing in mind the year he's had. Needless to say, he didn't appear again until the Brie was all gone, apart from the remnants on his paws that he proceeded to smear over his head. This is another cats' eating habit that it would be amusing if humans adopted, I can just see us all dipping our hands into the gravy and plastering it across our hair.

There were eight of us for Christmas lunch, which is why I was up and prepping veg at 7.30AM. Alan, who Deb has spent a lot of time looking after but who she has rather lost touch with since he moved out, turned up unexpectedly but was a most welcome guest. Last Christmas, it was just me, Alan and Deb for Christmas dinner in the Lake District, so this year was a grander affair. And I didn't manage to set myself on fire this year either! The others were Debbie's family, apart from Damion and Paul, who are two of Deb's other charges. Both of them use wheelchairs, but because of the difficult access to the house, they were both "walked" in by Deb and her mother.

When they left, John came to collect them in the official car, and to save time, he and Deb actually carried Paul, who was helpless with laughter, out to the car, one under his arms, one holding his feet. God along knows what the neighbours must've thought, if any of them had been looking out at that time and seeing what must have looked like a very paralytic guest being poured back into a taxi!

It was great to see everybody round the table in the candlelight, tucking into festive fare, and I did try and give thanks, both to St Padre Pio and to Big G himself, that we'd made it to Christmas. Yes, 2005 is going to be a tough year, full of all sorts of challenges, but that is NEXT year's problem. For now, let's just rejoice in each other and the season, and be glad.

This must have been how it felt on the Western Front in 1914, when the British trenches heard the sound of "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht" floating across no-man's land. What a tragedy that the truce didn't spread far enough and fast enough to stop the war in its tracks. Instead, it became like Christmas will be to us, a brief island of peace in a world that is soon going to be back to its normal self, the world of "telegrams and anger. "

But for now, I have achieved a strange type of peace. I sang Stille Nacht myself, to myself in the car, driving back in the rain and wind, with the motor overheating. All the verses. In German. Well done, Frau Graham, wherever you are now, you were an excellent teacher. And then I topped it off with "In the Bleak Midwinter"

"What can I give him, poor as I am

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb

If I were a wise man, I would do my part

But what I have I give him - give my heart"

My own taste in carols tends towards the bolshie though. I am a great fan of the traditional "Withy Carol" where Mary sends Jesus out to play, and he meets three rich young lords. He asks them to play with him, and they refuse, saying:

"For you are nothing but a Jew's child, born in an oxen stall"

So he does what any self respecting saviour who has been "dissed" would do - he builds a bridge out of the beams of the sun, and dances over the river. The rich young lords follow after him, and are all drowned. Their mothers naturally complain to Mary, who thrashes Jesus with a bundle of withy twigs - he then curses the willow and says it will be the very first tree to perish each winter. Not a very forgiving saviour, but one that appealed to my left-wing tendencies when I first heard that carol, over two decades ago. I have to say, in those two decades, Christmas as a whole has got a lot less spiritual. A lot less connected.

When we were going round Sainsburys on Thursday night, buying our own modest Christmas shopping list, I couldn't help but feel amazed at the amount of consumption going on all around us. While the speakers blared "I wish it could be Christmas every day" the tills were adding their own descants of joy for Sainsburys' shareholders. I bet they DO wish it could be Christmas every day. Me I would like to see a stall set up in the car park, taxing people 10% of their Christmas shopping bill and sending the money to Darfur, or even to one of those estates in the North of England where the trainers get handed down through the brothers in the family until they are so old and warn out that all there is to do is to burn them on the fire to try and keep warm, because coal costs too much. Or to the homeless, making the most of their week in the Dome that costs £250,000 of our taxes a month to keep empty. Because in seven days time, they will be back out in the cold, and I bet they wish it could be Christmas every day, too. Where is that bridge made out of sunbeams when you need it.

I wish it could be Christmas every day. I wish that we could keep that spirit and pay it forward through 2005. If I require anything of 2005, I would settle for reports of truces breaking out all over the world, of hungry people being fed, of sad people being given a meal, a fire, a pet to cuddle, some human warmth and charity.

In a world where even Santas have to have police checks, 2005 no doubt has some fairly dismal things in store for us and ours. Things that will test us, and our beliefs, situations we'd rather not be in, places where it would be oh so easy to cross by on the other side. We can retaliate though. Every time in 2005 somebody does something mean spirited or bad within your sight and hearing - say to them "shame on you, it's Christmas". Even if it's July 29th. Every time in 2005 you see someone needing a hand up, or a good feed, say to them "I can help you, - it's Christmas." Even if it's April 6th. Every time you are asked to turn your back on all the things that make each one of us the incalculable and never to be repeated beings that make up this crazy old world, say "No, I can't - it's Christmas, and I will give, give, and give again, until the need for giving, and for forgiving, is removed from the face of the Earth." Even if it's May 15th. Or December 2nd, or January 6th. Then it really will be Christmas every day, and we'll have gone a long way towards having something to really celebrate.

happy new year, SF, i have managed to find you again..thanks to your link. i do not think much of this new message board, what a palaver to get in again, and i did not get an email to say you had replied. dear me, what a moan to end the year with. well, sunny days ahaed and spring is just around the corner. jane

Hiya Jane

Yes, Spring is well - if not just round the corner, maybe waiting at the end of the street!

STEVE