Sin... Christmas passed

Christmas came and went in a flurry of forgetfulness. We didn't even have the complete, world-at-a-standstill snowstorms to turn the outside as white as the inside.

The Christmas lunch, though, was special. I think we were given turkey. I say 'think' because the only evidence of any change in our dietary delights was that the slop had a little more plop. I also 'think' that the roundish, brownish, charcoalish chunks of doughish discs were meant to be Yorkshire puddings. In a previous life, they may well have been. Now, we could have used them for art class, if we had any classes.

Or class, for that matter.

I'm sure Aunt Bessie would have been turning in her grave, or her armchair if she was still living.

They didn't give us 'pigs-in-blankets' though. As much as I enjoy the little bacon-wrapped sausages, I could honestly say I didn't enjoy, last year, Perry, the young Emo who had taken self harming to levels heretofore unseen, screaming that the pigs were trapped in their own brothers' carcasses. That seemed to put everyone off their lunch and, once the chaos had calmed, pigs-in-blankets were decidedly off the menu.

They didn't trim the recreation room. No tinsel was put up for fear of someone strangling themselves - or someone else -with it. There was no tree. You could guarantee it would be used as a pine enema by one patient or another deciding they wanted to be the fairy or star upon its top.

We didn't have cards (we weren't allowed pens to write with anyway) and nor did we have the opportunity to have a mass Meadowhall excursion to buy any gifts with. Not that Connors would relinquish his hold on our finances anyway.

Was there any 'did' to distil the 'didn't'?Jeremy 'did' wish us all a Happy Christmas. Jersey 'did' take pleasure in telling us all about the sumptuous meal he was apparently going to be having and made a point of commenting that he'd spat in one of our meals and he wouldn't tell which.

Which, of course, was rubbish as the slop was served from large pans by ladles that seemed very adept at hitting the plate and our clothes (such as the scrubs-like garments were) at exactly the same time however the kitchen staff dolloped it out.

So, that was Christmas in the asylum. A time for giving and for goodwill... somewhere. Methinks the 'Spirit of Christmas' is off haunting some other halls.

At least we have our own crackers...