To start with, Christmas carols are like cold fingernails dragging across the back of my brain, and the shops start playing them before December even rolls around. The first few bars of Frosty make me want to grab the nearest head, anyone’s head, and squeeze it, squeeze it ’till it pops.

The stores play these songs so early to get customers thinking about spending their money, because that’s what the season is about – spending money. Buy Harry Potter merchandise, buy whatever-the-hell-I-do-this-year Elmo, buy the latest blockbuster DVDs, buy everything you can.

And then the Christians come out of hiding as well. People who don’t do a single religious thing the rest of the year, people of whom Jesus would be ashamed, are suddenly erecting nativity scenes, shoving Christmas tree tips up angels’ bottoms, and shrieking that it’s a War On Christmas when someone decides to wish Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas.

And just when I think it couldn’t get worse, when I think I’ve hit the tip of how annoyed I’m going to get, I find myself stuck behind a horse-drawn carriage on my way back from work, covered in tinsel and garland, filled to the brim with caroling tourists. With a pile of burning books and a statue of George Bush on top, this would be a slowly mobile example of everything wrong in the world.

It was at this point this year, as happens every year, that I was on the verge of a rage-induced breakdown. There was going to be a massacre. I would enter the closest mall, slaughter the elves, hang Santa with his thick black belt, and take Christmas tree bordered photos of his bloated corpse to show the children. They would be washing little, bloody elf hand-prints and bits of fake beard off the walls for days.

And then it snowed.

I’m not one to get sentimental about a snowfall in December, as I grew up in a winter wasteland, but I sort of am. I was sitting in a cafe, drinking hot buttered rum with a friend, listening to Christmas carols and the crackle of the fireplace, watching the snow fall outside the window, and I suddenly felt very festive.

I started thinking about how I’d roll my eyes when dad canceled Christmas for the eighth time that season, and how I’d be the first to wake up Christmas morning and have an hour to pick through my stocking before anyone else, and how we’d all watch A Christmas Carol, the old black and white version, and how we’d whine when dad would watch John Wayne movies in the afternoon after that, and how mom would stress out so much over dinner. There were so many little things like this that would happen every year, and I used to love it.

Maybe my heart is no longer two sizes too small? I won’t be hanging a wreath around my neck anytime soon, but I’m not quite as bah humbuggy this year as I usually am.

It’s nice to be home for the holidays. I’ve never missed this town, but there are people here whom I miss dearly while away, so it’s great to see them.

I also got to see my dog again. I missed her. She even recognized me through the beard. My sister brought her Min Pins over for the day. They’re little bundles of concentrated evil. I’ve never understood the attraction of Min Pins, but their owners absolutely love the breed. To me they just seem wiry, cold, and cruel. They constantly act and look like a startled deer. Her dogs pretended to not recognize me, but I know they knew me. They were just using the beard as an excuse to freak out. Concentrated evil.

I forgot I would have to bring gifts back home, and I didn’t really pack accordingly. I received a lot of books this year. I think I’m going to have to carry another suitcase on the plane exclusively for books.

I also received a small briefcase containing a tear-apart golf putter. It’s a putter in three pieces that you screw into each other to make a whole putter, much like a professional billiards player does with his cue stick, but with a putter.

Yeah, it confuses me also.

All in all, it’s been a good trip. I’m here until Sunday, and most of my friends have abandoned me for work and vacations, so I should be able to get a good amount of reading done, at least.

I hope all of you had a good Christmas, if Christmas is your thing.

The special is full of great comedians, but most of them are basically unknown in North America. I’ve been trolling through BBC comedies lately, so I’ll probably be posting more of their work in the future. Everyone does a great job in this, but I found Julian Barratt, of The Mighty Boosh, particularly hilarious.

Here it is in its entirety:

I’m not a big fan of the Christmas season. I’m a bit of a Scrooge, from his pre-haunting days, and I’m typically sick of all things red and green before December even rolls around. I could conceivably get into the spirit if everyone would wait until the week of Christmas before they started celebrating, but that’s just not going to happen.

I do enjoy visiting with family and friends in Kamloops, but that’s really it. Christmas, to me, is a time of pain and suffering and misery. Suffering through crowds of sweaty, overweight people in the shopping malls, cringing in pain whenever a terrible, high-pitched Christmas carol is blared in my direction, and wallowing in misery as everyone around me tries to hold me down and waterboard me with holiday cheer.

I moved to Victoria, British Columbia’s capital city and tourist haven, at the beginning of this year, and my apartment is close to the downtown core, so as an added bonus I get horse-drawn carriages full of tourists singing Christmas carols outside of my window. Unfortunately, the street is just a little too far away to be able to properly pour boiling water on them as they pass.

I don’t mind Christmas wishes, and even Christmas music, within a week of the holiday, but if you bring it up any earlier than that, I will hurt you. I’ve asked for a taser this year, and I will be using it next winter.