Looking from a window above

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my travel agent gave to me,
Twelve mincing stewards
Eleven missing cases
Ten inflight meals
Nine check-in desks closed
Eight planes a-grounded
Seven baggage handlers
Six bendy bus drivers
Fiiiiive hour delays
Four miles to the gate
Three spare seats
Two cancelled tickets
And a BA cabin crew strike.



It’s not quite Christmas time, but it is that time of year when houses in every town turn into some sort of celebration of all that is Las Vegas. As someone with an aversion to tinsel and the assorted fripperies of yuletide decoration, I quite frankly, can’t see the point. This isn’t just bah-humbuggery though. (Well, maybe a little bit).

I’d like to know where all the carbon footprint fascists are. It’s all very well attacking those who like to use their cars, or take flights, or import their foodstuffs from Asia, but the amount of light, heat and electricity wasted on these homages to Blackpool never merits a mention.

These people delude themselves into thinking they are celebrities in their community as they painstakingly drape their homes in bulbs, making sure each one works. (How do they do that by the way? The tree light phenomenon is well know, yet it doesn’t seem to affect this lot). Let’s not forget the inflatable Santa and the Santa figure that spends all day and all night climbing up and down a rope dangling from the roof.

Round our way there are a couple of houses in competition with each other. Each year adding more bulbs, baubles and tat in an attempt to out do the other. Given they are now outputting more light than the sun, and are warming the air at an equally powerful rate I worry for the safety of the neighbourhood kids.

In these days of carbon emissions, global warming and Copenhagen walkouts shouldn’t we be taking these peoples fuses away?


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