Sniffy Advent: Day, the twentieth

You'd better watch out...
I figure it's time I paid tribute to this feller:

This is a depiction of St Nicholas of Myra, who was born during the third century in Patara, a village in what is now Turkey. His wealthy parents, who raised him to be a devout Christian, died in an epidemic while Nicholas was still young. Obeying Jesus' words to "sell what you own and give the money to the poor," Nicholas used his whole inheritance to assist the needy, the sick, and the suffering. He dedicated his life to serving God and was made Bishop of Myra while still a young man. Bishop Nicholas became known throughout the land for his generosity to the those in need, his love for children, and his concern for sailors and ships.

Through the centuries many stories and legends have been told of St. Nicholas' life and deeds. These accounts help us understand his extraordinary character and why he is so beloved and revered as protector and helper of those in need.

One story tells of a poor man with three daughters. In those days a young woman's father had to offer prospective husbands something of value—a dowry. The larger the dowry, the better the chance that a young woman would find a good husband. Without a dowry, a woman was unlikely to marry. This poor man's daughters, without dowries, were therefore destined to be sold into slavery. Mysteriously, on three different occasions, a bag of gold appeared in their home-providing the needed dowries. The bags of gold, tossed through an open window, are said to have landed in stockings or shoes left before the fire to dry. This led to the custom of children hanging stockings or putting out shoes, eagerly awaiting gifts from Saint Nicholas. Sometimes the story is told with gold balls instead of bags of gold. That is why three gold balls, sometimes represented as oranges, are one of the symbols for St. Nicholas. And so St. Nicholas is a gift-giver.


You'd better not cry...
So it's time we started to behave ourselves in the run up to the big day.

Of course, I've been an angel all year. I've not had a bad, bitter, vindictive, nasty, or hateful thought about anybody for the entire year, not even my fucking shitting bastard sponging neighbours. It's obvious that I deserve literally millions of presents from loved ones, and any acquaintances who happen to want to join my circle of friends. Of course, supplying me with lavish gifts carries no guarantee of entry into my exclusive circle, but all applications will be considered with due care.


You'd better not shout...
In all honesty, I find more fun and satisfaction in buying gifts for others, although I clearly won't be refusing any offerings that come my way. But saying that, my imagination (what there was of it) for interesting and novel gifts is now officially drained and I'm resorting to that good old standby: alcohol.

I went to Sainsbury's earlier and I stood in wine aisles, perplexed by the varieties that were on offer. Having not drunk alcohol in nearly six years, I really can't remember what is nice and what isn't. As I stood there, my head was swimming and the taste of zinfandel started to rise in my throat. Either it was a flashback, or I drank so much that there's still some in my system.


I'm telling you why...
Anyway, not really knowing what I was doing, and overcome with a compelling desire to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, I reckoned that those bottles hovering between £8 and £13 would be pretty OK. Even I can remember that Chardonnay and Barolo are pretty decent, so I went for three: a Penfold's Chardonnay; Sainsbury's special selection Barolo and a Cecchi something from Montepulciano.


Santa Claus is coming to town!
So, I took three bottles of wine to the till, which should've totalled about £30, but was only charged for two. Kerchingtastic! That never fucking happened when I was knocking back a bottle a night. Fuckers.