Ho Ho Ho – a Happy, healthy Christmas from No Wriggling!

vintage-christmas-261314Just a quick post to wish all those who follow my blog and any who just drop by the very merriest of Christmases and the happiest and healthiest of New Years.
This has been a good year on No wriggling. One post alone received over 20,000 views – a record by some way – and I am very grateful for your support of my writing.
This isn’t a review of the year, but 2012 also saw my first book published (called Dandelions and Bad Hair Days- Untangling lives affected by depression and anxiety) by Dotterel Press and another commissioned (Shell Shocked Britain) by Pen and Sword Books. So I can now legitimately call myself a ‘writer’. Thank you!
Anyway I thought I would send you a Christmas message via John Betjeman, who in this poem pretty much sums it up for me.
Christmas by John Betjeman
The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that the villagers can say
‘The church looks nice’ on Christmas Day.

Provincial Public Houses blaze,
Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze,
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says ‘Merry Christmas to you all’.

And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children’s hearts are glad.
And Christmas-morning bells say ‘Come!’
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window’s hue,
A Baby in an ox’s stall ?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me ?

And is it true ? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.

Do take care of yourselves and of those perhaps less able to experience the joy of the season.
Happy Christmas!
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This entry was posted in Christmas, Dandelions and Bad Hair Days, London, Poetry, Random musings on family life, love the universe and everything, Religion, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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