CHRISTMAS HISTORY LESSON

If you already know the origins of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' then let me not detain you further. However, if this information has previously escaped your attention then allow me to enlighten you.

Popular legend has it that it contains a coded message within having been written during the period when thanks originally to the efforts of Henry VIII, Catholics were suppressed (1558-1829) and were not allowed to openly practice their religion.

The items in each verse had religious significance and were intended to help Catholic children to remember the key features of their faith. 'My true love' (God) actually gave the following:

12 drummers drumming = the twelve points of the Apostle's creed.

11 pipers piping = the eleven disciples (not counting Judas).

10 lords a-leaping = the ten commandments.

9 ladies dancing = the nine fruits of the Holy spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

8 maids a-milking = the eight beatitudes (Christ's blessings from the sermon on the mount).

7 swans a-swimming = the seven gifts of the Holy spirit (prophecy, serving, teaching, exhortation, contribution, leadership and mercy).

6 geese a-laying = the six days of creation.

5 gold rings = the Torah or law (the first five books of the Old Testament).

4 Colley birds = the four gospels. Note not 'calling' birds. Colley birds were blackbirds.

3 French hens = faith, hope and love.

2 turtle doves = the Old and New Testaments.

The partridge in the pear tree being Jesus himself.

Now I'm off to examine Rudolph. I suspect that his red-nose could be a subversive ploy by Alcoholics Anonymous!

I'LL PASS ON THE PUMPERNICKEL

I was under the impression that we (The Allies) won the second world war. I was told that we beat the Germans who were trying to take over the world. The story goes that we would have been subject to German rule and forced to drive Volkswagens and wear short leather trousers.

More recently, of course, we have been told that all those nasty Germans have gone and only nice ones are left. In my personal experience though, I must say that the Germans I meet on holiday still have plenty of territorial ambitions when it comes to the sun loungers round the pool.

So if we won the war and thereby saved ourselves from becoming some sort of Bavarian holiday isle, how come I keep seeing most of our cities proudly displaying posters advertising that they are hosting 'Traditional German Christmas markets'?

I don't want Saint Nicholas entombed in a glass case. I don't want a knitted hat which makes me look like I have pigtails.

Glühwein? I don't want my wine tasting of glue, nor do I want it spiced or hot.

Stollen? Then give it back at once!

Wurst? I don't want the worst I want the best.

Apparently German gingerbread is called Pfefferkuchen which means 'peppercake' - what have pepper and cake got to do with each other pray tell?

I'm betting that they don't have a 'traditional British Christmas market' in downtown Dusseldorf.

Sorry but as far as 'traditional' German Christmas markets are concerned, all I have to say is "Bah! Humbug!' or for the benefit of my German friends 'Bah! Betrug!'

EARLY CHECKOUT

My dear departed mother had a morbid terror of being cremated alive. It was such a concern to her, that she made me promise to stick a pin in her on her deathbed to check that she didn't flinch. I tried to persuade her that since she would be laid out for several days, there was every likelihood that a passing undertaker would notice her tapping out S.O.S. in morse with her finger but she would have none of it. So yes, I pricked her finger.

She is in good company. George Washington no less, was so terrified of the idea of being buried alive that he made his servants promise to wait for 2 days after his death before burying him.

Fear of being buried alive, the medical term for which is 'Taphephobia', was so common in the 18th and 19th centuries that the 'safety coffin' was invented. This was a coffin with a cord inside attached to a bell above ground so that anyone who might awaken to find themselves in a small, dark, confined space could feel around for the rope and set the bell ringing. It seems to have escaped people's attention, that a bell ringing from a churchyard is a fairly commonplace event.

Of course, this fear of premature burial is completely irrational especially nowadays with modern medicine being so advanced. By the way, while I think of it, when it comes to my turn, I'd be obliged if I could be buried with my mobile phone - only because I am so fond of it. Oh, and if you could just make sure that it is charged up I'd be most obliged.

MY COLOURFUL LIFE

Along with my shiny new computer, I have acquired it's electronic diary. I have used electronic diaries before but this one is different from my previous ones. The difference is that I can now categorise the events in my life and then colour code them.

For example, I have a category called 'Dining out' (my favourite) which I chose to colour yellow. 'Birthdays' are green, 'Recreation' is purple, 'Appointments' are red......well you get the idea.

I can then view any one category on it's own so for instance I can select just 'Birthdays' so that I can check whether I have cards to buy in the near future. Alternatively, I can view all of the categories together which makes for a very colourful display.

I feel things are going well when I find 3 or more colours on the same day. It shows that I have variety in my life. It also shows a degree of balance so that if I have a morning session of purple tennis I can see that I will be able to regain any weight I lose when I have my yellow dining event in the evening.

So now I lead a much more colourful life than I used to but I have a confession to make. I find that more and more, I especially enjoy the days which are just plain white!

HOME THOUGHTS FROM A FRAUD

The first inkling I had of what retirement would be like was when I found myself buying a pair of bright yellow 'Marigolds'. For the unititiated, these are rubber household gloves used when washing dishes or for other domestic chores. Naturally I only wear them when no-one can see me. Except of course for Dearly Beloved who no doubt derives some perverse pleasure in witnessing my indignity.

I jest.

I have no problem with helping out at home and anyway, I was forewarned. I attended not one but two pre-retirement courses (not that I was eager to stop work or anything you understand!) and the first thing I learned there proved to be very true. We were told that in cases where our wives were still working when we retired, we would be left lists. Each morning there would be a verbal or written list of tasks to be completed before our spouses arrived home - and so it came to pass.

I have become intimately acquainted with the dishwasher and with the hoover. You can stop thinking your smutty thought right now! I have my own apron. I also took a crash course in how to put up the ironing board which thankfully I am rarely called upon to use.

However, I have a confession to make. I'm a bit of a fraud. My apparent inability to fathom the workings of the washing machine are shall we say, a trifle embellished. I trust you dear reader to keep this secret to yourself and on no account let it reach the ears of my dear wife.

EUROPEAN UNION

I just got back from a few days in Brussels.

Don't need to say much more really do I? I mean I've got the bragging out of the way. "Eww get him jet-setting it!"

I've maybe induced a touch of jealousy. "How come he gets to go to Brussels while I'm stuck here cooking the sprouts?"

Perhaps there's a little curiosity. "What's he doing going to Belgium? I didn't notice him among the long list of also-rans for the EU Presidency."

This reminds me of my sadly now deceased Aunt Lillie who once actually started off a conversation with the wonderful line:

"You know as you sail into Capetown............"

Well no Auntie, sadly I don't.

Oh alright then, since you ask so nicely I'll tell you. It was to attend a wedding and it was just fabulous.

On the Friday we attended the official ceremony when the mayor officiates and conducts the legal aspects of the marriage. The next day it was all down to the church for the traditional religious bit.

Then it started to turn magical. We were bussed out into the Belgian countryside to a fairy-tale château where we were greeted with log fires and tasty things to nibble - no not the bridesmaids! A multi-course sit-down meal followed that with wines arriving in response to your thoughts of them. Speeches, coffee, cake - all the usual elements and after a short time to catch your breath it was on with the dancing.

At first, as the drink flowed and the music played, things developed in the usual way. Granddad's gingerly tested out their hip-replacements on the dance floor. Ladies' 'fascinators' started to appear on gentleman's heads. If you don't know what they are check here. Then men started tying their ties round their heads (well OK I started that off!). Then ladies pinched the ties and tied them round their heads where they looked far better than their male counterparts.

This may all have been in part because there was a free bar. Just consider that concept for a moment! Wines, beers, vodka etc. etc. just there as and when you want it. Everyone loved the music for a very simple reason - it was their choice. Each guest had been asked in advance to submit their three favourite dance tracks for the playlist - the ones that make you just have to get on your feet and dance. What a clever idea! So lines of cavorting conga dancers developed, snaking round the hall and we were all doing the mashed potato, the mambo, the macarena or just madly dancing when someone introduced a long pole and before long there was a limbo contest for those whose backs could stand it.

You're getting the picture I'm sure, that we were having a great time. Just when we thought it couldn't get any better, it did! Pancakes were being freshly cooked in the corner to eat with jam and sugar or just lemon. What a wonderful touch!

Sadly, all good things have to end sometime and we were bussed back to our hotels at silly o'clock to dream of princesses being married to their handsome princes having witnessed just how it should be done.

DRINK PROBLEM

Apparently I don't drink enough. Now if you'd seen me last Saturday night after I'd consumed the best part of two bottles of Merlot unaided, you would question this statement. However, here I am being literal. I do not consume enough fluid.

How do I know this? Because I am blessed to have people around me who care about the state of my health and who regularly nag me about it. Recently, the nagging with regards to my failure to quaff several litres of water per day has come from at least three different people and so in order to attempt to silence my critics, I have succumbed.

I know that going everywhere with a plastic bottle of water clutched in your hand has almost become a fashion statement but I am clearly not in the vanguard of fashion where drinking is concerned. I simply try desperately to remember to drink a glass or two - sometimes instead of my beloved coffee. There I've said it. You now realise how serious an issue this is for me.

Once again I turn to my late grandfather for help and he duly obliges with this poem which I believe to have been penned by him.

"Pure water is the best of drinks

that man to man can bring.

But who am I that I should have

the best of everything?

Let Princes revel at the pump,

Peers with the pond make free -

But whisky, wine or even beer

Are good enough for me."