But not in Bangladesh...oh no. In Bangladesh, Christmas is just another day. Bangladeshis get the day off, which is nice, but apart from that, there is absolutely NO significance to the date of December 25th - none. Well, imagine what our intrepid band of god-fearing volunteers thought of that. We thought 'bollocks to that young fella milad, we want our hollow and debased exercise in rabid, whorish commercialism draped in the soiled, ragged, torn remnants of what once was an honest religious sentiment'. Well, I thought that...ahem.
So, step 1: download 'Now that's what I call Xmas 2006' - essential. Now everything can be done to the sweet accompaniement of the Pogues' Fairytale in New York, Kylie Mingogue's 'Santa Baby'...we even had Aled Jones' 'Walking in the Air'. Genius.
Step 2: acquire booze...lots and lots of booze. Me and Keith spirited ourselves to the government depot where we stocked up on five crates of larger, plus white wine - YES, WHITE WINE!!!! MUTHA-FLIPPIN' WHITE WINE!!! The first such golden deliciousness to pass our lips in many a month. It was the equivalent of Bangla-own liebfraumilch (translation - loveladymilk for those non-german speakers among you) but it still tasted soooo good.
Step 3: acquire CHEESE...and other food we don't have regular access to (but mainly CHEESE). YES, CHEESE!!!!! MUTHER-FLIPPIN' CHEESE. It tasted like it had been churned from milk teased lovingly from the nipples of Christ himself. So good, it deserves to be only written in capital letters.
Step 4: purchase materials for the manufacture of makeshift santa claus outfit.
No doubt at this point, many of you are wondering which of us would dream of manufacturing a makeshift santa claus outfit to wear on christmas day? Well, keep reading and that mystery will be revealed.
Christmas eve we had a decoration party to transform the induction flat into a seasonal grotto of justice. This included a mini-christmas tree from keith's family - awesome. And there was drinking, plus a few carols. None of us could remember the words so there was some great improvising, plus lots of 'dur dur durrring'.
Christmas day began with a lovely brunch, complete with CHEESE!!!! It was after the CHEESE, at about two in the afternoon, that Keith and myself judged it a propitious time to begin drinking.
Then, as guests began arriving, I donned my red apparel (stitched by my own fair hand), cotton-wrapped wire beard, red hat and my red chinese t-shirt. Scanta Claus (aka Banter Claus) had arrived.
Thankfully, my rucksack was red. This facilitated a process where guests sat on Scanta's knee and, provided that they had been good girls and boys, they were rewarded with their heart's desire from my big sack...as long as their heart's desire happened to be a can of luke warm heineken.
Queue lots of dancing and cavorting. Excellent stuff all round. And below is some documentary evidence:
The beard in all it's magnificence. To those of you who reckon it's in my mouth and are asking yourselves 'what kind of spaz makes a beard that winds up in his mouth', fuck you, that's who.
Scanta Claus dishes out the booze to the masses...
...before taking a crafty sip himself. A straw would have been a good move.
Old Banter Claus with Job - the beard looking decidedly frayed.
And now it's just a farce...a god damned farce!!!!
A bit of a hazy one of the party in full swing - whoever took this may, MAY, have been drinking...ahem.
Compulsory pout - Laura wins best Zoolander 'Magnum' look. I opted for Blue Steel myself.
So that was Christmas - all in all, we made it happen against great odds and, with all due respect to the centuries-old religion of peace that predominates in Banglaland, everytime the azaan sounded, interrupting my beloved Pogues, I was driven to scream 'you can shove your call to prayer up your arse!', a regrettable outburst for which I apologise.
Much love all!
1 comment:
It's a similar story here in Taipei where we also have to generate our own Christmas excitement. Friends of mine who are English teachers find that their Taiwanese paymasters are quite happy to exploit the season as a form of Western cultural capital - 'Oh, you can put on a Christmas play for the parents!' 'You mean, do extra work because it's the biggest holiday in our calendar?' 'Yes.' 'Oh. In that case, can I have the 25th off?' 'No, it's not a holiday in Taiwan, why would be give you the day off?' Cue a sudden mystery flu striking only westerners countrywide every 25th December.
I don't share your enthusiasm for Christmas songs I'm afraid. It's one of the things I like about Taiwan that you're not assaulted with Slade every time you enter the 7-11 from mid-November.
Poor Trish. She loves the Christmas album but the only one I can tolerate is Fairytale of New York - 'Merry Christmas your arse!' I belt with gusto each time it comes up on the pitifully diminished playlist. The rest of the time she has to endure me holding forth on how Midge Ure clearly wrote Do They Know It's Christmas in about five minutes. 'So in Africa "No rains or rivers flow?" What about the Nile? Only the f***ing longest river in the f***ing world!' 'You're just cynical.' 'I'm not cynical! The people who knock off a shit song a la Bill Nighy in Love Actually knowing they'll be set for life when it gets obligatory seasonal airplay regardless of merit, they're the f***ing cynical ones! Worthless f***ing- oh, no, don't cry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean it let's listen to Fairytale of New York again...
Working up a head of steam here, might have to blog on this myself.
Can one really shove the call to prayer up one's arse? The minaret would be rather painful...
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