The Spectator dig into their archives to reprint a Jeffrey Bernard ‘Low Life’ column on having to endure the festive season:
Speaking as a man with little faith I find this whole business of Christmas one hell of an inconvenience. It must be even worse for a turkey. One of the things that annoys me is the fact that I can hardly find a table in any of the restaurants I use because of the number of wretches who only seem to eat and drink once a year. Where the hell are they in, say, August?
But one of the things about Christmas that I keep thinking about and which is rather odd is the fact that Jesus was born in what was obviously a pub. So God can’t be all that bad. And now to the awful business of buying a few presents. I would like to buy Edwina Currie an egg-timer filled with cigarette ash. No, it would be a waste of money. I would like too buy myself some anabolic steroids. I now tip the bathroom scales at 8st 12lb and it damn nigh kills me just to go downstairs to answer the telephone. It is new legs that I need for next year. Either that or a ground floor flat.
First posted: Friday, December 24th, 2010.