Not quite in the words of pastor Niemöller

 First they came for the ship builders and I protested because I had friends who worked in the shipyards, though we did not get much support from the farmers.

Then they came for the steel industry and I protested because my uncles were steelmen, the farmers did not help though.

Then they came for the coal pits and I protested because I had family who were miners, but I did not see many farmers at the Battle of Orgreave.

Then they came for the farmers and I did not protest, instead I thought "Fuck'em, let's see how they like it."

The new Christmas weather spoons advert

( Yeah I spelt it wrong for a reason.)

This is grandad. He is all alone this Christmas. Whilst you are at home enjoying the festivities with the family. Your lovely relatives such as uncle Derek and his strong opinions on the small boats. Nice cousin Gerald with his hideous leer and overly sexualised remarks to your daughter, and mad aunty Eileen’s disturbingly homophobic rants at everybody in politics, or on television, or them at number 9. You continue cooking the turkey and hope nobody notices the teeth marks the dog left in what remains of the carcase. Admittedly dad is not much help, in the living room, lying in a pool of his own vomit after nipping to the Dog and Duck for a ‘swift half’. 

The lovely seasonal sound of the children screaming hysterical, ear splitting, tinnitus inducing, abuse at either each other, or who ever is on the WhatsApp chat. Your middle teenager having a conniption fit because that two grand fruit phone you bought them is the wrong colour. The pleasant aroma of cooking sprouts, because what is more pleasant than the smell of a misused cellar in a Belarusian brothel sticking to the wallpaper for the next two months. The in-laws making judgementally passive aggressive comments on your preparations, without lifting a fucking finger to help. 

Think of poor Grandad, all on his own, having a Christmas dinner of beans on toast and a satsuma (his favourite meal), with nobody to keep him company, just fifty six cans of strong lager and all the die hard films on DVD. You could go round and visit him, but don’t bother because the front door is nailed shut and you are not getting in. 

Merry Christmas.