Friday, December 24, 2010

Whirl's Christmas Greeting


Just time for one final swoop over the nest before Christmas.

The nest of my followers.

Fluffy, joyful, all.

Hatched from the eggs of enthusiasm.

Bound for horizons of wonder.

With tiny beaks a-chirp.

And feathers whistling through the breeze.

In hats, maybe hats of all colours.

Or those fluffy Snoopy lounge suits you can get – the ones for slobbing around in between Masterchef and Newsnight.

That’s what I’m wearing now, as I swoop.

O’erhead.

Because swooping under is technically dive-bombing, and would pre-suppose your nest languishes in an eyrie (along with Dave Hill, perhaps) or atop some other bizarre geological structure with air directly below it rather than earth.

A mountain or an outcrop, say.

But no, your nest is in a tree, a plain and simple oak tree.

A clutch of twigs between the verdant leaves and acorns.

I pause in mid-flight wondering, “is it oaks that have acorns?” but I’m too busy swooping to Google it.

No iPhone, anyhow.

And if I tried to access Whattreewhatseed.com in mid-air, I could easily veer off course and meet with disaster.

My beak cracked against the side of the mountain.

(Despite the tree not being a mountain, it is in fact next to one).

Or the nest.

For, yes, I picked the hardest and thickest twigs to protect you.

Actually, they’re more like logs.

Which is why the tree is bent over.

And why I’d miss it if I were accessing Google, and fly headlong into the mountain.

But none of this is going to happen.

Because they’re acorns for the purpose of this swoop, right or wrong.

Or that swoop, should I say.

Sometimes you can get so preoccupied you forget what you’re doing.

So I’ll wing may way back round and swoop again.

Thinking of Christmas.

Such a time of cheer.

In the relentless, tormenting darkness.

That was a joke by the way.

About the cheer.

(Another joke).

(But less funny than the first).

(Not that the first was funny anyway).

(But you get the idea.)

(About what a magical time Christmas is).

(Figgy pudding, Morecambe and Wise, and always, always , always, some ropey Channel 5 show featuring unknown (and not very good) magicians performing well known (yet badly done) tricks).

(Personally, I only trust Paul Daniels to make things disappear.

And it’s sad to think that one day, he’ll disappear himself.

Though it won’t be magic.

So this is why it’s important to treasure Christmas.

It’s not about the tinsel, the presents, the feasts, the boozing and the endless games of Race Round The Living Room with grandma and granddad in wheelbarrows.

Even though it feels like it most of the time.

Christmas is for caring and sharing, maybe even coming over uncharacteristically schmalzy.

And doing so with those you love.

Including the cat.

Or a dog if you have one.

Or cockroaches, if you’re Polenth.

Also, your followers.

Who I’ve missed once again btw thanks to a second distracted swoop.

No idea how, as I see you’re now waving banners and have laid out a runway of cheese slices.

Three things to say about that.

Firstly, sorry.

I’ll swoop round again and land this time, promise.

Second, thanks for caring.

It brings tears to my eyes.

Thirdly, you should have knitted leaves together for the runway.

We’re supposed to be nibbling Olive-Stuffed Cheesy Gondolae before the turkey, remember?

Without the Gondolae, the olives will roll about all over the place.

And the Gondoliers will have nothing to do.

They’ll riot.

Pelt us with nuts as we eat, crying, “you’ve stolen our livelihoods, you fiends!”

Whatever you do, don’t make it a rolling runway by using up all the pickled onions.

Save them for bargaining with the Gondoliers.

“Two onions each if you promise to lay off the nuts.”

“And, yes, you can sleep on the pudding till we eat it.”

Coming in to land now.

So this is technically post-swoop, pre-alighting.

And then we can get down to the festivities.

In our Snoopy lounge suits and our assortment of crazy festive hats.

So thanks for stopping by.

Thanks for snuggling in my nest.

Without too much biting, punching or chainsaw wielding.

(Gowan, try it – there’s no socket).

Have a merry Christmas.

And I’ll see you again when the last scraps of the turkey have been sandwiched.

(Or droplets of Butter Bean & Parsnip Pilaff spread on toast if you’re a vegetarian).

8 comments:

Peter Dudley said...

Oi, are you the Christmas Goose I keep hearing about?

Merry Christmas to you & yours.

fairyhedgehog said...

A very merry Christmas, Whirl. It sounds like it's started already!

Scarlet Blue said...

Merry Christmas, Mr Whirly!
Sxx

McKoala said...

Have a great one Whirl!

Phoenix said...

Awww, look at you getting all schmarmy. Back atcha! (Next year I'll try to remember to call off the bird dogs when you swoop by...)

Old Kitty said...

I'd knit a runaway just for you
Mr Whirlocre - that's true!
As you soar high above
With a gondolier full o' love!
Think of us - your little birdies
Nestling snug and eating curly-whirlies!

Happy Christmas!! Take care
x

Robin B. said...

Merry Christmas to you and yours!!

xx

Steph Sinkhorn said...

Glad to bring you cheese slices and banners, my friend ;) The merriest of Christmases to you!