Twas the night before Christmas, when into the house
Creeped little drunk Christopher, the Yuletide souse.
The Alka Seltzer was left right next to the Aga,
In hopes he would grab it instead of some lager.
Miss Agatha was nestled all snug in her bed,
Dreams of an incident-free Christmas danced in her head,
Though she quite certain it was too much to ask,
When she discovered that Christopher had taken her flask.
When in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
She sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
She put on her slippers and her silk dressing gown,
Nipped out of the bedroom and headed straight down.
The amber of the streetlamp flooded the room
As she entered the kitchen, filling with gloom.
When, what to her wondering eyes did she spy,
But a little-too-merry boy, starting to cry.
Though he had promised this year to abstain,
She instantly thought, “Here we go again.”
He claimed to be sorry right down to his core,
Though he was interrupted when he fell to the floor.
Oh Stella! Oh, WKD! Oh, Malibu and Coke!
You’ve turned Christopher’s promises into a joke.
The night before Christmas is a time to deck halls,
But he’s pissed away, pissed away, pissed away all!
I hope your Christmas Eve did not include what has now become a tradition round here, a young man coming in intoxicated and spewing what are clearly the issues he has with his mother onto me. For once I’d like to fall asleep on Christmas Eve, dreaming of sugarplums, rather than questioning my level of tolerance that allows this pisshead to live in my home.
If you prefer the traditional version, enjoy and Happy Christmas to all.
(I apologise for consecutive French titles—I’m just in that sort of mood, I guess.)
I find it quite charming that I’ve received a few emails asking about Christopher’s whereabouts. It’s sweet that you care about someone who is, ultimately, globally inconsequential.
It’s true Christopher has been somewhat absent from Everyone Needs An Algonquin in recent weeks. This is partly because business has been relatively serious as of late and let’s face it, Christopher’s critical analysis skills aren’t really his strong points. But I’m afraid there has also been some trouble between us.
It’s potentially problematic mixing the professional and the personal in relationships. I learned that many years ago when I worked as a seamstress for Henry Kissinger. My remit was purely stitchery, but the Secretary of State and I eventually grew quite close. We were both taking a lot of heat in the press (for him, it was his role at Columbia, and for me, it was the breath-taking but room-dividing ensemble I debuted on the red carpet at that year’s Oscars ceremony). I felt comfortable sharing my opinions when it came to his choice of haberdashery, but when I saw my own views on the Balkans coming out of his mouth during a television interview, I realised that a boundary had been crossed.
Christopher and I have maintained a very solid balance for most of our time together. I thought we were both quite content with the set-up: he was available to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted and in return I was willing to expose him to glamour, prestige and excitement that otherwise he could have never even dreamt of accessing. Win-win, no?
Sadly not, according to Christopher’s friend, Apollo, whom he met earlier this spring at an event sponsored by one of their boys-only clubs (which I have never had a problem with Christopher joining, even though their very nature excludes me and half of the world’s population). From the very first day I met him, I knew Apollo was what the kids call “bad news.” However, Christopher is his own person and therefore permitted to make whatever mistakes he chooses to.
I noticed little changes in Christopher early on in their friendship. He started combing his hair into a very peculiar style, his shoes grew pointier and I know for a fact he booked in to at least two spa treatments in one month. But I said nothing. I am his employer and also his friend, but I am not his mother (DNA has confirmed this). Eventually, though, Apollo’s influence began to affect Christopher’s work and therefore my own life, which came to a head during what should have been an enjoyable trip to Castle Howard. This is where I had to put my foot down.
I encouraged Christopher to take some time away—to think about his priorities, clear his head and (I was hoping) come to his senses. In the end, the righteous won out (as we so often do) and Christopher has returned home to my side. It turns out Apollo was not all that he seemed to be. I don’t doubt you’ve seen reports in the local paper, so I shall save all of us the embarrassment of rehashing it here.
So there is the explanation for Christopher’s brief absence. The equilibrium of our household has been re-established and all is well in the world again. Except, of course, for all the recent tragedy around the globe, most of which, I don’t doubt, Apollo has probably had a hand in.
Whenever we’re traveling, it’s a good idea to have a few landmarks on our maps to know that we are heading in the right direction. People point out the cemetery on the right to let us know that in two miles we need to turn left to reach our destination.
In our lifespan, those landmarks are milestone birthdays. They’re not quite as reliable as that cemetery (we all know what happens when people move cemeteries), because each of us arrives at them in different ways. However, when it comes to special birthday celebrations, our own experience is irrelevant. I’m not here to tell you where you should be by the time you’re 16 or 40 or 75; ultimately, if you want to follow or break from a tradition, it’s nowt to do with me. What I can do, though, is let you know what others’ expectations will be to help buffer the shock just a tad.
YOUR FIRST BIRTHDAY
The first milestone is obviously one’s first birthday. It’s clearly all about other people, since one-year-olds are legitimately too stupid to know anything about life whatsoever. Luckily, other people’s expectations for this one are pretty low: as long as they get to take a picture of you with cake on your face, they’ll be happy.
YOUR TENTH BIRTHDAY
Moving into double digits means that others will start expecting a little more. You might be expected to do chores; you may start dealing with money. You will also be asked to “perform” for people at family gatherings, and unlike when you were 6, it’ll no longer be cute when you sing off tune or forget the words of the Gettysburg Address (I’m afraid I had to learn this the hard way). How you deal with this pressure will be up to you, but the main thing you should be prepared for is that, while it will feel like the worst thing in the world to you, no one will really give a shit.
YOUR ADOLESCENCE
Adolescence is a complicated time because of the physical and emotional changes you will be going through. To add further complications, there are a number of different milestones during these years. For example, in the Jewish tradition, one’s thirteenth birthday is important—this is when you become responsible for your actions. That’s pretty heavy stuff for someone who is technically still developmentally an idiot.
For girls of any religious persuasion, the first menstrual period will be a momentous time for now you are technically eligible for the position of motherhood. What the hell’s that all about, nature? Depending on your family’s background, this will be greeted with either with pride or shame. Try not to let it affect you too much—luckily the hassle, pain and need for notes excusing you from PE classes should keep you pretty much distracted.
A driver’s license also signals a major turning point. This will heap more responsibility onto your shoulders. Undoubtedly you will think this unfair, because that’s just the kind of thing teenagers do. But remember, you can now get behind the wheel of a potentially lethal weapon, so there’s got to be some kind of balance between your needs and others’.
YOUR EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY
In many countries, your eighteenth birthday means you can officially do grown-up things like run for election, drink, marry, join the military and be a consenting adult. Keep in mind that you just because you can doesn’t mean you have to.
YOUR TWENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY
This is often the first time that you will start looking back on your life, realizing that some of it has already gone. Others will note this as well; essentially what people are really doing is reminding you that you’re on the path towards death. This is a drag, especially if they do it as you’re blowing out your candles, but it is, of course, true.
This can also be a difficult time for men especially as it marks the end of what’s commonly referred to as your “sexual peak.” Don’t let this talk worry you; you have plenty years of masturbatory pleasure left.
YOUR THIRTIETH BIRTHDAY
This is often an important one because you are likely to remember your parents in their thirties. This is a recipe for comparison: how come your mother was married with kids on her thirtieth and you’re still single and letting your ex’s new girlfriend raise your twins? How come your father had worked his way up to a managerial position by his thirtieth and you’re still waiting for your band to hit the big time? You may be doing these comparisons in your head, but, trust me, others definitely will be and may start treating you like you’re a failure. (They’ve probably been feeling this for years, but it may be the first time they act on it.)
For women, your thirties will also mark a milestone in terms of your bodies: they will start changing but more importantly, you’ll start hearing (or at least hearing others talking about) your “biological clock.” The truth is, if you are planning to throw your life away on motherhood, now is a good time to it. But don’t let your parents, your friends or your spinster aunt’s regrets pressure you into doing something you’re not ready to do.
YOUR FORTIETH BIRTHDAY
This is seen by many as the Big One. Because unless you’ve already passed it, forty is seen as past it (particularly for the female of the species). You don’t have to embrace this interpretation, but be aware that many others do. This includes the twenty-year-olds you work with (their flirting is actually mockery) and your doctor (who will now expect you to regularly schedule tests so he can tell you which parts of your body are starting to fail).
YOUR FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY
People will note that you are a half a century old; given that only freaks live a hundred years, I think we all know what they’re really pointing out: most of your life is gone. Not even crumblies think of a 50-year-old when they think of a young person, so be prepared that even if you feel young, using the word to describe yourself will cause others will see you as delusional and/or embarrassing. Even the phrase “young at heart” is a bit troublesome at this point as you think about your echocardiogram results and your dodgy arteries. I’m definitely not saying you are old, but you are older than a whole generation of other adults. They are well aware of this.
YOUR SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY
You might get a bus pass or discounts on your early bird dinner special, but the truth is this milestone isn’t as important as it once was. Starting off your sixth decade used to signal your eventual retirement from employment, but nowadays you’ll end up working until the day you drop dead, so thank god for that, eh?
YOUR SEVENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY
You are old now. Everyone thinks that and will expect you to act old. They will assume you don’t remember yesterday, comprehend technology, or experience sexual desire. Even if their assumptions are wrong, you may want to consider working their mistakes to your benefit. Being in your seventies allows you to lie like a rug and people’s reactions will usually just be, “Ahhhh, bless.”
YOUR ONE-HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY
What others expect from you on this milestone is absolutely irrelevant.
Obviously, your body as it ages will present you with opportunities and limitations, but ultimately age is just a number and like most things related to numbers, obsessing about it is boring. Others will respond to you in different ways as you evolve, but it’s important to be true to yourself. It’s your journey, regardless of the route you take. But if you are headed through my neighbourhood on your way, can you stop and pick up a pint of milk for me?
8.05 Welcome to my up-to-the-minute coverage of the wedding between The Duke of Cambridge, the Earl of Strathearn, Baron Carrickfergus, and the Duchess of Cambridge, Countess of Strathearn, and Baroness Carrickfergus. I love group weddings; it’s almost like the Moonies.
8.30 Did you hear the guy from Syria’s been uninvited? I’m not sure that’s any less rude than violently cracking down against weeks of pro-democracy demonstrations.
8.40 I have always felt that those who shove in queues should be beaten to death and admire the police’s decision to do so this morning.
8.44 A lot of hats, bordering on an indecent amount of hats. Some ridiculous, some I confess to finding rather fetching. I particularly like the little pink beanies some of the men are wearing. Too cute!
9.09 The chant that greeted Chelsy Davy was just not on.
9.43 Apparently Boris Johnson’s hair took hours doing.
9.44 Guy Richie?
9.47 Sir Elton John and David Furnish have arrived. Elton’s coiffure is attempting something but failing miserably.
9.48 I’m not sure I’ve ever seen John Major look quite so dashing. Yum-yum!
9.56 I strongly agree with the decision to sit all gingers in a separate area.
10.01 A cheer for Nick Clegg! Or perhaps for Miriam’s saucy attire—her lips match her feathers.
10.02 Ed and Vince. Vince and Ed. Little George Osborne not far behind.
10.03 Samantha Cameron looks quite pretty in a flattering jade dress, carrying an orange wrap. A shame she had to spoil it with her date.
10.14 I don’t think screams at a wedding are ever really appropriate, regardless of who is attending or how fancy pants their tour bus is.
10.16 Now, that’s one hell of a car the Princes are in.
10.18 Here come the bells.
10.19 Prince William is in the house: whoop whoop, as the kids say.
10.20 Those who think the Royals’ lives are unfairly easy should remember that tragedies like thinning hair can strike anyone. Nature is blind to pageantry.
10.22 The red coat, blue sash and gold doohickeys are alright, I guess. But I’m not keen on the red stripe down the trousers. At least he ignored Harry’s suggestion to also wear red shoes.
10.24 I wonder who was the first to say “Someone’s getting laid tonight” to Wills this morning.
10.27 I don’t care what cool cucumbers some of these posh-os think they are. You know they must be peeing themselves over all this.
10.28 I like the four matching silver mini-buses. They’re titchy, like little toy cars, carrying little toy people.
10.36 Who taught these people how to walk?
10.37 Three arrests at the street party on my road. Apparently, letting off fireworks outside an old couple’s home should have waited until after the nuptials.
10.40 I bet Tony Blair’s having a little cry. I know Barack Obama isn’t.
10.42 Beatrice and Eugenie—no, no, and no.
10.44 This must surely remind Prince Charles of his own weddings. The incredibly exciting one, plus that time the other one got canceled because the Pope up and died.
10. 48 I don’t care what people say. The Queen is still a right royal knockout and you know it. She looks like a stunning little canary. Wearing a hat. And a brooch. And carrying a handbag.
10.50 Awkward kiss between the Duke of Edinburgh and Camilla. But I suppose it would have been more upsetting if it had been natural, like something they did all the time.
10.54 Here comes the bride! I can confirm she is wearing her hair and a white dress. I really don’t know what all the fuss was about. What else would she be wearing?
10.55 Any commentator who says something about Kate’s ability to wave is first against the wall, come the revolution.
10.59 You gotta say one thing about the royals: they know how to keep to a timetable.
11.00 I’m not too proud to admit she looks pretty. But I know, in his heart of heart, Wills prefers a bustier woman.
11.04 Searches for Sarah Burton have now crashed the internet.
11.08 If this is William’s first view of his bride’s dress, I’m sure he think it’s beautiful. Harry is thinking, “What’s up with her eyebrows?”
11.11 Oh, England, you and your hymns. I do love you so.
11.13 Marriage was ordained for the increase of mankind. Ooh, sexy.
11.14 I won’t say a word. I will forever hereafter hold my peace. Damn, Will’s not said anything either.
11.16 For richer, for poorer. Good one.
11.17 I don’t mean to seem a downer, but let’s remember that Charles and Diana said all these words as well.
11.18 Wow, he’s going to give her his troth, honour her with his body and share all his worldly goods? Jackpot!
11.20 William’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. Congratulations to the happy couple!
11.24 Grab a pew, now for the boring stuff.
11.29 To kill some time, let’s look at some new wedding-related tweets:
Halcruttenden All these beautiful people have just made me realise that the idea of monarchy is right. They’re just better than us.
mfhorne There is literally NOWHERE for Harry to have a sneaky Fatty Boombatty.
mrchrisaddison Queen has a tartan blanket over her knees in that car.
Therealdavelamb No wonder the father of the bride’s sweating, this must be costing him a fortune.
StephenAtHome At the Royal Wedding. Crap, I’m wearing the same thing as Camilla.
RufusHound They need to hurry it along, the photographer has another wedding to do at 12
RobinCooperEsq Don’t forget tomorrow is the royal wedding everybody
11.39 Oh boy, they composed their own prayer. Nicely written—concise yet ultimately meaningless, as all good prayers should be.
11.37 Those little boys have no idea that this will be the last greatest moment of their lives.
11.46 I like the idea of marriage as “such an exquisite mystery.” Sounds so much better than “the beginning of the end.”
11.47 Oh, “Jerusalem,” you bring me such joy. There is nothing better than you. Except maybe marrying Prince William. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. So I rejoice at the song of England’s green and pleasant land.
11.52 What goes through Charles’s head when he hears “God Save Our Gracious Queen”? And I don’t know about you, but it seems weird that Prince Philip sings it as well. Man, she must really hold that over him at times.
11.56 I thought it was supposed to rain today. Wow, they really do have God looking after them.
12.10 Yes, put the gloves on. One mustn’t wave to paupers without wearing gloves.
12.13 The wedding ceremony ends as all wedding ceremonies do: a bunch of old people in fancy dress struggling to get into horse-drawn carriages. We’ve all been there, done that.
12.15 The deed is done. There’s nothing more to see here. Move along and back to your regular lives.
Let me encourage you to visit Castle Howard in York. The House and the gardens are simply breathtaking. A day there is bound to remind everyone of the glory of humanity and of nature. I have no doubt that it was not the where, but the who and why which caused the incident.
Christopher and I spent a few hours there to top off our travels through Yorkshire. It’s easy to get lost in reverie within the rooms of the house. They really knew how to use wallpaper in those days. I am envious of those who lived during a time when “the look” required using as many different patterns in decor as possible.
We wandered the natural sensuality of the Woodland Garden and the precision of the Walled Garden, and I’m sure in most circumstances, the people who pass through them cannot help but absorb the serenity and peace of the environment.
Please do not let the unfortunate incident involving a certain young man and his lackadaisical attitude to the gravity of keeping a promise stop you from enjoying what is otherwise a truly magical place.
Thank you much for the condolences regarding my being excluded, yet again, from the inductees to the New Jersey Hall of Fame. Much like the dedicated fan who left roses and cognac at Poe’s grave, a dear man nominates me every year (I do not know his name as he signs the form only with his prison number), but I have yet to get in. Please do not concern yourselves too much on my account. I am well aware of how these things work and as lovely as the honour would be, I simply refuse to play their games. I have done nothing but praise the Garden State, but it looks like my refusal to sleep with a certain prominent New Jersey politician continues to haunt me.
To those being inducted into the Hall of Fame this year—Martha Stewart and John Travolta among them—I offer my hearty congratulations. It looks like they “did what it takes” to get the coveted prize, but I’m afraid I just couldn’t stomach those stumpy hands anywhere near my person.
I have never been a huge proponent of days set aside to celebrate reproduction (Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Cinco de Mayo, etc). To me, the simple fact that one participated in the merging of egg and sperm hardly makes one deserving of a whole day of recognition. However, I am clearly alone in this view. Germany has its Muttertag, America its Mother’s Day, and today we have Mothering Sunday.
As you know, I have a mother and I have resigned myself to sending her a card (and possibly ringing her, if I’ve enough vodka in the house) on the second Sunday of May. I will do that, because that is what one does. However, I do feel that some people take the whole “honour thy mother” thing a tad too far.
I am not unaware that mothers make sacrifices for their children. And I acknowledge that most go to some trouble to care for their offspring. Fair dues. However, my mechanic regularly services my car (and even buffs the interior leather), and I certainly don’t feel compelled to “honour” him with perfume and flowers on an annual basis. Why mothers should be celebrated simply for doing their job is beyond my comprehension.
Have you noticed it’s often men who feel obliged to go out of their way on Mother’s Day (without any regard for the fact that the woman who actually pays their salary needs to be driven into town for brunch with her new editor)? Maybe my confusion lies in the fact that I am a daughter. Clearly mothers have different expectations of daughters, which could cause the relationship to be somewhat strained. I asked Christopher why sons are the worse offenders in terms of showering adoration on their mums; silence was his only riposte. I guess, bringing him into a world of beauty and sophistication means nothing, whereas the simple act of buying and laundering his pants for sixteen years apparently deserves lifelong gratitude.
Of course, having never known the apparent “joy” one experiences after giving birth to a younger and generally smaller human, I cannot speak from personal experience of the so-called maternal bond. Clearly, there must be something to this veneration of “a mother’s love” for nothing without some basis in reality could be tolerated by the public for so long. It isn’t that I begrudge a mother and son wanting to acknowledge their mutual affection—-more power to them. However, I simply think it needs to be kept in check (particularly if it interferes with my work schedule). The umbilical cord must be cut at some time or heaven knows what could happen.
As I said, though, I know I am the lone voice of sanity with regards to this issue. So, “Happy Mother’s Day” to all of you mothers out there. A good day to you all. Enjoy this afternoon with your son. Please don’t let me and the future of my career affect you in any way. I’ll make my own way to my meeting, don’t you worry. Savour your time together, because tomorrow he’ll come back to me. Never you fear.
I have recently been accused of being unfair to young people, a claim quite frankly I find deplorable and libelous. Christopher has volunteered to serve as my counsel should this case go to court. But I am appealing to you, my loyal readers, please do not accept this character assassination without giving due consideration to my history. I have spent much of my adult life doing nothing but traveling the world and spending ungodly amounts of money having adventures purely so that I could pass on my stories and wisdom to the young people of today. I do not enjoy singing my own praises, but quite frankly no one deserves more praise singing for their efforts to benefit young people than I, their humble servant.
That said, young people have a lot of problems and are in desperate need of a good shape up. I do not hold them individually responsible—clearly their parents have let them down when they permitted them to develop their own personalities before the age of twenty—but we must accept that the young people of our country are in a right state. I feel quite strongly that it is unfair that teachers get the blame. Please view the clip below to see what I mean.
This clip highlights a few important issues. Teaching is not an easy task, and being a new or supply teacher is clearly worse. While my time as a teacher was rather limited, I do have acquaintances who worked as supply teachers to earn some pin money. Both Mr Bindingcock and Miss Fluck said they felt bullied and threatened during their brief excursions into the world of teachers. I think many of us forget that today’s teenagers, on average, are at least seventeen inches taller than they were in our day. Combine that with swagger and you have got a nasty piece of pie. I don’t doubt that on programmes like this the usual stench of violence and pubescent perspiration has been edited out. Any adult, regardless of previous criminal prosecutions, who teaches should be commended for their bravery and commitment.
More importantly, though, what I find most shocking about this clip is the students’ utter indifference to having a man of such stature in their presence. John Humphrys is both visually and aurally delicious yet at no time do any of these little rascals attempt to worship him in the way he so clearly deserves. Had I been a young lady in that classroom, I would have cherished every second of breathing the same air as the great man and I don’t mind admitting that I would have dropped my hankie at his ankles a number of times, if you know what I mean. This is of course because I was raised to be that way, and I lament that that childrearing strategy has fallen by the wayside.
In summary, 1. young people have problems but I am not unfair to them, 2. so-called friends should keep their mouths shut and 3. if John Humphrys is willing to forget the unfortunate incident he and I shared in the lift of Broadcasting House, I would simply swoon if he would get back in touch.
Having recently parted ways with her publisher, Rupert Stanley Quim, Miss Agatha Whitt-Wellington has asked Christopher, the boy who trims her bush, to show her how to publish her thoughts on the Internet. Now no one need be denied of her musings. How lovely!
To find out more about this mysteriously seductive woman, please peruse "Agatha: The Miss Behind the Myth" above.
Agatha’s Public Chimes In