It’s that time of year when we ask our children to trust a strange old man with a red coat and a big beard to come into their rooms and empty his sack in their stockings.
That man, of course, is a vision of hope and joy (I’ve been watching Miracle on 34th Street this week – more on that later). But other men that are real are anything but. In fact some of them are rather monstrous.
Take a chap in the news this week. I won’t name him, because to do so just fans the flames of his inflammatory, hate-fuelled fire. You’ll know him as the ex-leader of a far-right political party in the UK. He resigned after the last general election, withdrawing said resignation days later. He then resigned again post-Brexit, only to become temporary leader again after his replacement walked out – dismayed by the people running the party. Touché.
He subsequently befriended US president-elect Trump – now there’s a Whatsapp chat that would be ‘interesting’ to hack into.
Anyway, our man-that-will-not-be-named has caused more controversy this week, this time claiming the widower of MP Jo Cox, murdered last summer in broad daylight, would “know more about extremists than me,” in a heated Twitter exchange which began discussing the horrific Berlin Lorry attack.
It’s typical, headline-seeking nonsense from a man that has never actually been an MP yet seems to gain more column-inches than anyone in Westminster. In fact, the more ridiculous or offensive his quotes, the more people he offends and the more coverage he gets. It’s a self-perpetuating cycle.
Here’s an idea, let’s stop giving him coverage and maybe he’ll disappear?
Unlike that man these have had their comeuppance, with their inane chat up lines flip-reversed by this brilliant woman in New York. Are they actually attempts at chat up lines? Because whenever she returns a verbal volley, they fall apart like a Tim Henman service game in a Centre Court semi-final.
You might have heard the story of tennis player Petra Kvitova, who was attacked in her own home by a knife-wielding burglar this week. She suffered lacerations to four fingers on her playing hand, and is reportedly lucky to be alive, let alone able to play again. What a horrific ordeal to endure.
Not such a bad week for another Wimbledon champion, as Andy Murray won the BBC’s coveted Sports Personality of the Year award on Sunday.
I’ve never seen such a flurry of Facebook activity, my timeline filled with friends arguing the case for their SPOTY champion-elect. Irrespective of the winner, I think it’s pretty inspiring that there were so many worthy winners up for the award and that the public interest was so high.
For me Murray was the worthy winner. He’s the best tennis player in the world, in the golden era of the sport. He’s won Wimbledon and Olympic gold this year, and he’s beaten the machine-like Novak Djokovic to top the world rankings. But if one more person tells me ‘oh but he doesn’t have a personality’, I will scream. Just because he doesn’t wear a pair of fake boobs when he’s out on the lash, doesn’t mean he’s boring.
But forget sport for a moment – all focus in the Huelin household is currently on which film will triumph in the Christmas Film World Cup, which kicked off on Thursday night. Having watched the brilliant ’34th Street’ this week, I’d have to put that high up on the list, although Home Alone and the Snowman are also classics. Ghostbusters 2 is also shortlisted – I’m not sure that even qualifies as a film, let alone a Christmas one.
Right, I’m off to eat, drink and be merry. Have the best Christmas ever, and report back here T+7 for my Christmas de-brief.