The tinsel's faded.
The pine-needles are a pain in the socks.
Silvery wrapping paper is being a recycling nightmare.
There's the unmistakable smell of used-sprouts and Febreze in the air....
ITS LIMBO-MAS!!
That bit in the end of your old Diary that you can't even be arsed to write in.
And the first few pages of the new Diary that you can't even be arsed to write in.
The week when no-one can work out what day has gone before.
"Is it Boxing Day?
Is that a Wednesday?
It feels like a Wednesday..."
Nobody knows what to do during Limbo-Mas.
It's like an episode of The Walking Dead.
"Are the pubs open?"
"Why is the supermarket shutting at 6pm?"
"Why is Next open at 6am?"
"Will the News at Ten be on at 4.30pm or five to eleven?"
"Are the buses running?"
It's a period when TV becomes a wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey strand of overstretched elastic, where Dickensian drama school orphans jostle for attention with Angela Ripon's legs and godawful foghorn singing voice.
Stuff that we would love to see all year round is smashed together like a televisual coleslaw.
Morecambe & Wise, Tommy Cooper, Les Dawson, Victoria Wood, Blackadder, The Two Ronnies and even that Botttom episode where Richie has to cook a meal for Spudgun & Dave Hedgehog, are ALL crammed into ONE week, reminding us that there's nothing new being made at the moment because everyone involved in making telly programmes clocked-off sometime in November.
The same stuff is on EVERY year, and we don't mind.
We lazily lap it up. The repetition is comforting and we're in no mood to use our brains for anything other than shovelling peanuts into our gobs.
It must be like being programme controller of BBC3.
Or the scheduler for Dave.
Apart from the repeats are relics from the past that are dusted off and given one last trot around the televisual paddock before hopefully, and mercifully, having a bolt shot through their pained unfunny faces.
Putting on the TV in Limbo-Mas also reminds us that there are a great many terrible, terrible, terrible American Christmas films - and that's why we're all drinking Buck's Fizz from nine-thirty in the morning, because the alternative is to watch a fucking Tim Allen movie... SOBER!
Fuck's sake.
Tim Allen.
Has he actually made a decent film?
One where he wasn't a cartoon spaceman toy?
And then there's all those adaptations of A Christmas Carol...
(Although, I do quite like the Muppets one....)
But I digress, it's Limbo-Mas, so what to do?
Well, I like to spend Limbo-Mas in the traditional way, by finding a place for all those newly acquired Christmas presents. Usually by storing them in the spaces recently vacated by taking last year's stuff to the charity shops three weeks ago.
The books I don't need.
The CDs I'll never listen to.
Then I like to take a minute or two to bin those receipts out of my wallet for presents for all those books that I bought that no-one needed and CD's that they didnt want.
I also like to cram my fridge with the food I bought too much of and will never eat, the cheese-platters, the sausage rolls, pork pies, various hams, individual prawn surprises and other titbits that no-one took from my home buffet... mainly because I didn't have one.
Then there's that mountain of mince pies that you could fucking ski-down that I have to pour in the bin, because no-one ever wants a mince pie. It is one of that massive unwanted food group that you are obliged to buy at Christmas.
Brandy butter.
Turkey.
Marzipan.
Stollen.
Egg nog.
The stuff that isn't on your shopping list at any other time of year.
I wouldn't be surprised if mince pies were actually made of wax and balsa wood as I've never seen anyone enjoy one.
Don't try it, you'll lose a tooth.
That's if you haven't already chipped one on the coin secreted in that godawful fruit pudding that was set on fire... seriously, why do we buy all this inedible shit??
Anyways, Happy Limbo-mas to you!!
A time to reflect on the year just passed and look forward to all the resolutions you are going to break in precisely one week's time. A time to rest your liver until you give it one almighty fucking good kicking on New Year's Eve. A time to smoke and eat and fester and bloat - because next week you ARE joining that gym.
And this time you might even go..
In the meantime go and have some Gala Pie, there's loads leftover...
The pine-needles are a pain in the socks.
Silvery wrapping paper is being a recycling nightmare.
There's the unmistakable smell of used-sprouts and Febreze in the air....
ITS LIMBO-MAS!!
That bit in the end of your old Diary that you can't even be arsed to write in.
And the first few pages of the new Diary that you can't even be arsed to write in.
The week when no-one can work out what day has gone before.
"Is it Boxing Day?
Is that a Wednesday?
It feels like a Wednesday..."
Nobody knows what to do during Limbo-Mas.
It's like an episode of The Walking Dead.
"Are the pubs open?"
"Why is the supermarket shutting at 6pm?"
"Why is Next open at 6am?"
"Will the News at Ten be on at 4.30pm or five to eleven?"
"Are the buses running?"
It's a period when TV becomes a wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey strand of overstretched elastic, where Dickensian drama school orphans jostle for attention with Angela Ripon's legs and godawful foghorn singing voice.
Stuff that we would love to see all year round is smashed together like a televisual coleslaw.
Morecambe & Wise, Tommy Cooper, Les Dawson, Victoria Wood, Blackadder, The Two Ronnies and even that Botttom episode where Richie has to cook a meal for Spudgun & Dave Hedgehog, are ALL crammed into ONE week, reminding us that there's nothing new being made at the moment because everyone involved in making telly programmes clocked-off sometime in November.
The same stuff is on EVERY year, and we don't mind.
We lazily lap it up. The repetition is comforting and we're in no mood to use our brains for anything other than shovelling peanuts into our gobs.
It must be like being programme controller of BBC3.
Or the scheduler for Dave.
Apart from the repeats are relics from the past that are dusted off and given one last trot around the televisual paddock before hopefully, and mercifully, having a bolt shot through their pained unfunny faces.
Fuck's sake.
Tim Allen.
Has he actually made a decent film?
One where he wasn't a cartoon spaceman toy?
And then there's all those adaptations of A Christmas Carol...
"Next, a new spin on an old classic as Charles Dicken's perennial favou.."
OH, FUCK OFF!!
FUCK RIGHT OFF!!
IT WAS GOOD ENOUGH AS IT WAS!!
FUCK RIGHT OFF!!
IT WAS GOOD ENOUGH AS IT WAS!!
SMURFS?!
MUPPETS?!
BILL MURRAY?!
ROSS KEMP...
ROSS FUCKING KEMP??
FOR THE LOVE OF ALISTAIR SIM, LEAVE IT THE FUCK ALONE!!
(Although, I do quite like the Muppets one....)
But I digress, it's Limbo-Mas, so what to do?
Well, I like to spend Limbo-Mas in the traditional way, by finding a place for all those newly acquired Christmas presents. Usually by storing them in the spaces recently vacated by taking last year's stuff to the charity shops three weeks ago.
The books I don't need.
The CDs I'll never listen to.
Then I like to take a minute or two to bin those receipts out of my wallet for presents for all those books that I bought that no-one needed and CD's that they didnt want.
I also like to cram my fridge with the food I bought too much of and will never eat, the cheese-platters, the sausage rolls, pork pies, various hams, individual prawn surprises and other titbits that no-one took from my home buffet... mainly because I didn't have one.
Then there's that mountain of mince pies that you could fucking ski-down that I have to pour in the bin, because no-one ever wants a mince pie. It is one of that massive unwanted food group that you are obliged to buy at Christmas.
Brandy butter.
Turkey.
Marzipan.
Stollen.
Egg nog.
The stuff that isn't on your shopping list at any other time of year.
I wouldn't be surprised if mince pies were actually made of wax and balsa wood as I've never seen anyone enjoy one.
Don't try it, you'll lose a tooth.
That's if you haven't already chipped one on the coin secreted in that godawful fruit pudding that was set on fire... seriously, why do we buy all this inedible shit??
Anyways, Happy Limbo-mas to you!!
A time to reflect on the year just passed and look forward to all the resolutions you are going to break in precisely one week's time. A time to rest your liver until you give it one almighty fucking good kicking on New Year's Eve. A time to smoke and eat and fester and bloat - because next week you ARE joining that gym.
And this time you might even go..
In the meantime go and have some Gala Pie, there's loads leftover...
...and Eric's about to call him "Andrew Preview"!!
SEE YOU IN 2012!!