In this festive Low Life column from the 19 December 1981 edition of The Spectator, Jeffrey Bernard talks us through some Christmases past.
I’ve tried ignoring Christmas but the bastard won’t go away. It’s never been a good time of year for me what with being ignored by Father Christmas — yes, I’m going to have a right old moan today — and three years ago being left completely alone in a freezing cottage. Season of goodwill? You must be joking. But at least I’ve had an office party this year in Kentish Town. Last night I poured a vodka into my electric typewriter and it nearly blew up. There aren’t any decorations here and in this day and age I reckon a man could get kicked in the balls if he was found loafing under the mistletoe. Which reminds me, I’m somewhat choked at not having been invited for a drink by the Guardian Women’s Page writers.
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