Twelve... sorry, five... sorry, ONE Day of Christmas - Katherine Roberts

The good old 12 days of Christmas... remember those?

*DISCLAIMER: The following post was written last week and scheduled ahead of time, so is now out of date due to the latest round of last-minute changes to our lives under the UK Government's emergency coronavirus rules. But I don't have the time or patience to write another blog now, and it wouldn't be a very entertaining one if I edited it down to just one day. So, without further apology, here is last week's version (the sentiment is pretty much the same).

On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me a phone mast in a pine tree.

On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me two socially-distanced doves, and a phone mast in a pine tree.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me three quarantined hens, two socially-distanced doves, and a phone mast in a pine tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me four silent birds, three quarantined hens, two socially-distanced doves, and a phone mast in a pine tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me five golden masks...

There won't be a sixth day of Christmas this year, because the Government have decided five* days will be plenty, after nine months of emergency rule, for us to enjoy the festivities in the close company of our extended families (one plus: there's a rumour doing the rounds that the police will invade your home and drag out any unwanted guests under the aforementioned emergency rules, if you tip them off).

The six geese won't be laying, anyway, because they haven't been with a daddy-goose since March, and the seven swans broke the Rule of Six so sadly they've all died of "avian flu". The powers-that-be might turn a blind eye to the eight maids a-milking (everyone needs milk at Christmas, if only to make extra brandy sauce to drown our sorrows), and to the nine ladies dancing with the ten leaping lords, provided they cavort in the spacious garden of their mansion and make an appropriately large donation to the Party in the new year... but as for those eleven pipers and twelve drummers down the local pub, they'd better all be wearing masks and socially distancing, or it's a £10,000 fine!!!

Winter solstice is not allowed this year (the government-mandated festivities don't officially start until 23rd* December), so the Druids have apparently retrained in construction and are tunnelling under Stonehenge. Board games are banned, and sleepovers too - if the virus doesn't kill you, a drunk driver on your way home surely will. Scotland might have to cancel Hogmanay, while the Welsh are pouring good beer away. English tiers confirm our fears, and it'll be skiing in Cornwall at New Year, if you can afford the Tamar Bridge toll now your employer has gone to the wall. As for Brexit, better check your immunity passport is up to date.

Twenty Twenty, the Year We'd Rather Forget... and it's not over yet.

If you want your life back in 2021, you are not alone: https://saveourrights.uk

*

Katherine Roberts apologises for the lack of Christmas spirit (or poetic scanning) in the above and wishes you Virtual Solstice Blessings this bleak midwinter. No matter how dark today seems, remember that the light will return, the days will get longer, and emergency rules cannot last forever.

If you need some escapist reading this Christmas, check out Katherine's fantasy/historical books for ages 9 to adult, including a few free ebooks.

HAPPY VIRTUAL CHRISTMAS!

www.katherineroberts.co.uk