What with the snow i wanted mulled wine in abundance, so donned my black coat of terror, plus hat of happiness, for a raid on the local supermarket. What with German efficiency and all that, they had sold out, so i left in defeat to take up Plan B: warming the cockles of my heart by cursing the Germans, pondering reincarnation, and eating the chocs my Christian landlady gave me for birdsitting Moloch and Baal last week.

Germany is supremely Christmassy, they probably invented it along with strange forms of torture and sausage. However, for Christmas i am going to France to stay with a blog reader i´ve never met, who is undoubtedly a serial killer – perhaps even he specialises in killing bloggers, one per Christmas, a freezer full of our preserved heads, why not, it´s all good. 

“Elberry,” you may say, “is it altogether wise to accept a total stranger´s invitation, even if he pays the airfare and offers pie? Isn´t it possible that you will be tortured for several weeks and then baked into a pie or possibly torn to pieces by a pack of wild French dobermanns, or converted to Roman Catholicism, or buried alive, or thrown across Europe in a giant Elberry-catapult, designed specifically for Elberry-hurling, or perhaps you will be put in a barrel and dumped into the sea to float where fate wills, you will land on a foreign beach and be taken for a demon and propitiated by sacrifices of burnt offal, which is not pleasing to the nose?”

Well, i´ll let you know. Going on Wednesday, back on the 29th so probably no blogging in that period. Amusingly, the reader´s daughter expressed concern thus: “Mon père, peut-être Elberry est un serial killer comme Charles Manson.” To which the only response is “he was a mass murderer, not a serial killer.”

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