Woof! The world is still fucked, but we have been for a visit to York, scene of Viking rampage, terrible plumbing, and much drunkenness, and feel refreshed and bursting with joie de vivre! Because we are decidedly less young than we used to be, however, we contented ourselves with gently perving on the Roman statues and daffodils at Castle Howard, as opposed to going apeshit bananas in the city's public establishments. Safely chauffeured and chaperoned by Tudor Friend, we frolicked, capered and even cavorted through the halls and gardens of the eminent palace, and, when nature so indicated, visited the visitors' toilets.
Let's gently ease ourselves into reviewing mode, by contemplating this entirely inoffensive ad
This set-up is, apart from the disability-unfriendly flush, reasonably laudable, and displays linguistic clarity
What the yellow rubbery fuck is this, though? Why do the walls not go all the way down to the floor?
Jonny's interpretation reads as follows:
"Looks like you're being abducted by aliens. Also maybe a reference to stargate or teleportation? Does fully look like you're about to step into the year 3050."
The mind boggles.
At this point we are so distressed that we become incoherent and gibber unintelligibly. Why separated taps? Why, in God's name? Whyyyyy? (We refrain from mentioning the air dryers, for fear of upsetting sensitive readers.)
The inside of Castle Howard was rather less distressing than the toilets, though the centuries-old interiors were not necessarily much more functional than the modern facilities.
Enjoy: a 19th-century face-washing contraption with a rude (in the original sense) tap.
Incidentally, does this remind us of something? Perhaps of the lavoire!
A view with a room. Washing paraphernalia in foreground.
As regular and perhaps even semi-regular readers are aware, the Privy Counsel is home to a gaggle of fans of Jonny, who appreciate that young man's rugged physique and rustic sense of humour. It will no doubt warm everyone's heart to learn that we met up with the hero of the Jonny Babe Parade while on our sojourn to York! Here is Jonny, with an anonymous hanger-on, engaging in vital rehydration activities.
The hour is late and we have shit to do. We shall not leave you, however, without a Festive Video to sustain you until the next blog update. Although we don't even believe in Jebus, we happen to find this song rather fitting for the season.
So, what's new? At our end, nothing much. The weather's still terrible. The UK still largely lacks functioning plumbing. Rampant murderous Nazis are still in charge of the White House.
Shit weather and crap British plumbing are normal phenomena. Rampant murderous Nazis lording it over Capitol Hill, however, is not normal. The journalist Sarah Kendzior exhorts us, in an article in The Correspondent, to keep a record of what things were like before the regime, to help us remember what normality is like. Kendzior says:
Write down what you value; what standards you hold for yourself and for others. Write about your dreams for the future and your hopes for your children. Write about the struggle of your ancestors and how the hardship they overcame shaped the person you are today.
Write your biography, write down your memories. Because if you do not do it now, you may forget.
Write a list of things you would never do. Because it is possible that in the next year, you will do them.
Write a list of things you would never believe. Because it is possible that in the next year, you will either believe them or be forced to say you believe them.
It is increasingly clear, as Donald Trump appoints his cabinet of white supremacists and war-mongers, as hate crimes rise, as the institutions that are supposed to protect us cower, as international norms are shattered, that his ascendency to power is not normal.
Here is our contribution to the record of normality: Jonny contacting us on social media to express his frustration with British plumbing.
Normality: Friends ranting about things that upset them in a semi-respectful manner.
Let us also write
about the struggle of our ancestors, and how the hardship they overcame
shaped the people we are today. The words "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"
have been quoted a lot in recent times. We absolutely appreciate these
words, as representing the principle of offering asylum to refugees. We
are all either refugees or the descendants of refugees, and we need to
remember that it is not that long ago since Europeans emigrated en masse
to the United States, seeking security, religious freedom, employment,
and the ability to walk down the street without being shot in the head
or tortured. The immigrants and refugees arriving in Europe and North
America today are emigrating for the same reasons, and there is frankly
no excuse not to treat them humanely.
We
also need to remember, however, that the reason so many people were
able to settle in the United States a hundred years ago was that Native Americans were
driven away from their lands. Native Americans' struggle for survival is
still going on; The Standing Rock camp was razed just the other week, apparently clearing the way for the Dakota Access Pipeline.
It behoves us to remember that the reason some people are able to live a life of liberty and in pursuit of happiness is that other people were stripped of their human rights.
Frankly, being a decent human being can be a difficult task, and
require some pretty rampant multitasking. A good starting point,
however, that makes everything relatively simple, is Caitlin Moran's definition of
feminism:
The five rules of feminism: 1) Women are equal to men. 2) Don't be a
dick. 3) That's it.
Let's try not to be dicks, everyone! Can we do that?
We actually received a message, semi-recently, from Ellis Island, the starting point of many an American dream, nightmare, and feverish fantasy. Shewee Fiend Friend went there to visit. She writes:
Today we went to see the statue of liberty and Ellis Island Here you enter the migration processing
Here a brave migrant approaches the loos Pictures of successful loo operators line the walls (I don't know who that dude is, btw) (it wasn't even that busy, I just couldn't be bothered to wait)
Imagine this is your first pee in America You'd think you'd be careful to leave it clean behind you, look after your new home Unwashed Europeans ruin everything
This was the cleanest one The hook is uselessly placed right in the corner
As you can see, these same sinks have been in use since the centre opened in 1890
It was not the worst experience of my life For a New York loo it was above average even
The German journalist Günter Wallraff has the honour of giving name to investigative journalism in the Swedish language; wallraffande. However, a woman pioneered investigative journalism in Sweden half a century before Wallraff. Her name was Ester Blenda Nordström, and she kicked arse in no uncertain manner! In 1914 she took work as a maid of all work on a farm, and wrote a piercing and humorous piece of social critique. In 1922 she travelled third class to the United States, publishing her sharp, witty observations, which were recently republished as a book called Amerikanskt: Ester Blenda Nordströms resa i USA 1922 (Lund: Bakhåll förlag, 2015). Ester Blenda Nordström, when she got to New York, was harassed by a mansplaining piece of human garbage disguised as a customs officer, and was refused entry and locked up, until her friends got her out. Here's what she has to say about the detention centre at Ellis Island:
We can't be arsed translating all of this, but basically the customs officer is described as a mansplaining, jumped-up bully with dirty hands.
Let's finish with a Festive Video about everything being just the same as usual.
Festive Video - Reba McEntire, The Day She Got Divorced
Sometimes reality is so grim that one spends unreasonable time and energy constructing elaborate fantasies. This can be a productive strategy for many days or even weeks, but eventually, the whole thing will come tumbling down and one will have no choice but to get very drunk very quickly. We spent the other night imbibing fermented juices with enthusiasm, which turned out to be highly profitable, as evidenced by the following picture of a tumble dryer, taken by Audiologist Friend after we rather abruptly left the party:
Audiologist Friend sent us a message this morning, saying (a translation follows, for those too hungover to be able to read colloquial Swedish):
"Varför har jag bilder av torktumlare i min telefon? Ah det måste vara till [The Privy Counsellor]". Minns vårt telefonsamtal! Tydligen tog [vår andra kompis] typ samma bild (!) senare under kvällen, för att skicka till en annan kompis.
("Why do I have pictures of a tumble dryer on my phone? Ah, it must be for [The Privy Counsellor]". Remember our phone conversation! Apparently [our other friend] took basically the same picture (!) later in the evening, to send to another friend.)
We replied, soulfully, while gracefully clutching our head:
Haha, det var det du ringde om, va? Jag mindes samtalet, men inte vad det handlade om.
(Haha, that's what you rang us about, right? We remember the call, but not what it was about.)
Various members of the Privy Counsel enthusiastically escaping reality
Audiologist Friend retorted:
Hehe, jag ville ringa och kolla att du kommit hem OK. Berättade att jag hittat en tyst plats nämligen en toalett. Då sa du "Du tar väl bilder?" så då gjorde jag det. När du gick vände sig [snubben vi pratade med] till mig och sa "Var det något jag sa?" varpå jag och [Meandering Friend] unisont förklarade "Nä, hon var bara trött, hon är lärare"
(Hehe, I wanted to check that you had got home ok. I told you that I had found a quiet place, namely the toilet. You then said, "You're taking pictures, right?", so I did.
When you left [the dude we were talking to] turned to me and said, "Was it something I said?" at which I and [Meandering Friend] explained in unison, "No, she's just tired; she's a teacher".
As a last piece of escapism, let us share this picture of Jonny:
Jonny as a knight errant. WOOF!
As just one more piece of escapism, let's have this Festive Video featuring a band we listened to with enthusiasm in our youth. Now we're off to clutch our head some more, and maybe find some cheese.
What to do, when the world is being taken over by rampant, murderous Nazis? Well, here are some things we've been doing lately:
* Reading Little Women (a feminist manifesto, if an annoyingly pious one, and containing distressing sentiments about women's natural knack for cleaning)
* Watching Jeeves and Wooster (Jeeves's competence is so reassuring)
* Internet-stalking interesting people (the less said about our activities in this area the better)
* Admiring pictures of Justin Trudeau (woof!)
* Ranting (we find ourselves feeling thirsty a lot, which is either due
to us developing diabetes, or because of all the ranting, or possibly because of
panting induced by pictures of Justin Trudeau)
* Cheering on all our friends who do amazing things every day
Here is a picture from a toilet in a pub somewhere in Copenhagen, where we and our fellow marchers enjoyed a large amount of wine and an even larger amount of ranting after the march:
A sticker on this ad reads, "Sexism is still a problem - Don't ignore it, fight it". We couldn't agree more.
We are also quite pleased with the signs we made for the march, and were even more pleased when, the second we arrived at the site outside the US Embassy, kind Danish people offered to staple sticks to our signs so we could hold them up more effectively.
We were proud of our signs, which we thought were intellectual yet poignant. Our Mum, meanwhile, was very amused by pictures of signs she saw on the internet saying "Ikea has better cabinets", and "We shall overcomb".
Now to the main business of the day. We received a message from everyone's favourite biker boy, Jonny! It read:
A look into an executive office gent's toilet. You even have the option to save the environment or dry your hands faster on dead trees. I think my fans will appreciate the selfie too.
Oooh, that is a very tall erection, isn't it?
What a very shiny bin! Nothing but the best for the executive businessmen.
This looks very clean and comfortable. And the walls of the stall go all the way down to the floor!
WOOF!
Many, many thanks to Jonny for this refreshing view into the world of executive gents' toilets! Now for a reassuring Festive Video, before we go back to frantically checking Twitter, and crying. What one needs, in times of murderous Nazi mayhem, is unapologetic '80s punk rock!
We tried to remember when we last read Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace, and the best guess we could come up with was "probably sometime in high school? Or maybe at uni?". We have relied extensively, while creating the finely tuned drama of which you are about to partake, on Wikipedia, Spd Rdng, and Cliffsnotes. Because let's be honest - there's no way we can be arsed reading the damn thing again.
Without further preamble, let us begin!
War and Piss
Prince Andrei Bolkonsky feels like he is pissing his life away. His wife
is beautiful, but all she wants is to party. Also she favours separate
taps, because she considers them "more stylish". Andrei seethes, but
suffers in silence.
Luckily, Napoleon Bonaparte decides to invade Russia. Finally, a chance to take action against those effeminate French and their poncy lavender soaps! Andrei joins the Hussars, the Russian cavalry.
Andrei is masculine, he is handsome, he is brave. He is also almost instantly
wounded at the Battle of Austerlitz. As he lies gazing up at the sky and
watching the thousands upon thousands of dead and dying soldiers, Andrei
thinks that Napoleon seems petty and insignificant. Napoleon, riding
past, asks him, "How do you feel, mon brave?"
"Piss off," replies Andrei irritably.
Andrei's friend Count Pierre Bezukhov, who is considered socially awkward until he inherits an absolutely gigantic pile of money, marries a woman called Hélène. A dude called Dolohov, who is rumoured to be having an affair with Hélène, makes an ungentlemanly remark about her in Pierre's hearing. Because he is trapped in a web of patriarchal notions of purity and pride, Pierre has to defend Hélène's, and thereby his own, honour. To everyone's surprise, not least his own, Pierre wounds Dolohov in a duel.
Andrei, meanwhile, returns home from the war to find his estranged wife about to give birth. She dies while engaged in this risky activity, which makes Andrei feel incredibly guilty. He pisses off and leaves his infant son to be cared for by others.
Luckily, Andrei soon finds comfort in the arms of the beautiful Countess Natasha Rostova, the sister of his friend Count Nikolai Rostov. However, Natasha is also being wooed by Prince Anatole Kuragin. Andrei is jealous, and decides he doesn't want Natasha anymore.
The war of 1812 kicks off, and Andrei goes to join the fighting again. He realises, as a grenade lands next to him, that he's been a dick. He wants to live, and marry Natasha. He promptly dies. (Though he gets to declare his love to Natasha very prettily on his deathbed first.)
Pierre marries Natasha. They live in the country, where Pierre enjoys haymaking. Most of Pierre's money is gone, and they haven't got a pot to piss in. However, they are blessed with several children.
We have to remember the good things, because otherwise we will succumb to despair. And we bloody well can't afford to succumb to despair. 2017 is the year when Donald Trump takes over as president of the United States, which means that, most likely, 2017 is the year when a shitstorm of racism, sexism, and every kind of -ism you can think of, including nazism, will be unleashed upon the world. If we want life to be worth living, we have to fight to make it so. Human rights are won through struggle and sacrifice, and once won, they have to be defended. We have to sodding well keep fighting for democracy.
We can't afford to sit on our arses and do nothing. As Caitlin Moran says, "If you have been complaining about something for three minutes, you should have done something about it two minutes ago". If you find yourself complaining about the state of the world, DO SOMETHING. If you have money to spare, donate it to an organisation fighting for civil liberties and human rights. If you don't have money to spare, consider whether you can instead give of your time; find an organisation that needs volunteers.
Human rights will only be breached if we let them. We can stand up for each other. We can organise protest marches. We can show solidarity. There are so many things we can do. Don't do nothing.
A rather incendiary call to arms, what? But who are we to tell people to roll up their sleeves and defend democracy? Who do we think we are? Do we imagine ourselves to be striding up the barricades, one tit hanging out, waving a fucking flag? Hardly. Actually, we spend rather a lot of our time bitching and moaning, and moodily grinding our teeth. In a dark moment recently, we thought to ourselves that we would be fine with the zombie apocalypse arriving round about now, and ending all the rape culture and the sexist bullshit. Zombies, after all, aren't interested in maintaining a toxic, patriarchal hegemony. They just want brains. When
we posited this idea to Shewee Fiend Friend,
however, she said, firmly: "Yeah, but I want equality first." This seems reasonable. First equality. Then zombie apocalypse. To find the strength to fight for equality, however, we need hope.
Hope, according to the old parable about Pandora and her box, is the last thing to abandon humankind. Without hope, we'd all stop writing toilet blogs, or whatever activity we happen to find meaningful, lie down in a puddle, and die. We're not sure that this would be a negative development, considering the way the human race is pushing this planet to hell in a handcart, but let's work on the assumption that we want to keep humanity alive. So. Hope. What gives us hope? Well, mixer taps and good hygiene, for a start.
We have had the good fortune of spending the autumn at an amazing school in the south of Sweden. This school is filled to the rafters with wonderful staff and students, who make every day spent in their company a joy! This school also has exemplary toilets. Not only are they equipped with mixer taps, good-quality soap and paper towels, they also have these amazing signs:
This reminds us of a similar sign in a toilet in a building where we
have spent some of the best times, and made some of the best friends, of
our lives: the King's Manor in York.
The sign says (a translation will follow for those whose linguistic skills do not quite stretch to reading toilet signs in Swedish):
Råd för att förhindra smittpsridning
För att minska allmän smittpsridning så rekommenderas:
- Noggrann handhygien - tvätta händer ofta och alltid före mat, efter toa-besök och efter man snutit näsan - Vid nysningar: nys i en pappersnäsduk (som sedan slängs) eller i armvecket - Undvika att vidröra munnen, ögonen eller peta näsan med "orena" fingrar - Vädra klassrum med luftgenomdrag 3 min. minst mellan lektioner - Vistas mer utomhus på rasterna - Vistas hemma i stillhet vid feber eller påverkat allmäntillstånd
(Advice to prevent the spread of disease
To minimise the general spread of disease, the following measures are recommended:
- Careful hand hygiene - wash hands often and always before eating, after going to the toilet, and after blowing one's nose
- When sneezing: sneeze into a paper handkerchief (which is then discarded), or into your elbow
- Avoid touching your mouth or eyes, or picking your nose, with "unclean" fingers
- Air out each classroom for at least three minutes between classes
- Spend more time outdoors during recess
- Stay at home and rest when you have a fever)
Words cannot quite express how wonderful we find these signs. Suffice to say that when we first caught sight of one of them, we uttered a joyous WOOF! and knew we had found kindred spirits. In a world full of darkness, despair, and bad plumbing, it is kindred spirits and mixer taps that keep the Privy Counsel going! (Again, let us assume that this is something we want to aim for.)
Here is a photo of the disabled toilet at the same school:
We have, in previous years, attempted to get our readers to vote for the year's best bog blog post. However, since the only person who ever votes is Australian Friend
(who tried to vote twice last time, in order to be kind, which if
possible made us feel even sadder), we will not attempt that again.
Also, if there's one thing 2016 has shown us, it is that elections, even democratic ones, can be
hugely problematic. Let us instead summarise 2016 by regarding this picture, sent to us by Australian Friend. It says it all, doesn't it?
Australian Friend's comment on 2016.
Before enjoying a rather epic Festive Video, a word on this year's mottoes. Our mottoes for 2016 were PEOPLE SHOULD FUCK OFF MORE, and FEMINISM NEEDS TO BE MORE MILITANT. We have, by and large, stuck to them. The
first motto seemed to strike a chord with the populace at large. We
didn't need to clarify, or explain what we meant; everyone appeared to nod
sagely, as if to say "I hear ya, bruv. People totally need to fuck off
more". The second motto, however, apparently caused some puzzlement. Not
everyone understood what we meant by "militant". The word "militant"
conjures up, perhaps, images of unattractively dressed people engaged in
unattractive, even violent, activities. Let us make it clear that what
we meant was not "violent", but rather "uncompromising". Women, in our opinion, make too many compromises when it comes to negotiating with the patriarchy. If you require further clarification, we wrote a Facebook post defending our stance, which you can read here.
Our mottoes for
2017 will be the same as for 2016:
PEOPLE SHOULD FUCK OFF MORE, and
FEMINISM
NEEDS TO BE MORE MILITANT.
Let us move on to the Festive Video.
Festive Video - Flo & Joan, The 2016 Song
Because our particular brand of OCD makes us unable to handle
misspellings of expressions like "en masse" (and also "en route". Oh God, "en route") in Youtube video subtitles, we are
providing a full transcript ot the lyrics of this song - spelled right -
below. We love the song and everything about it, but - en masse. Our usual recommendations of Related Reading follow below the lyrics.
The 2016 Song
2016 - it's been a time, it's been a struggle
But everything is fine if you're a straight, white, male muggle
We've tried to stay composed, cross our fingers, count to ten
But every time we get to nine you fuck it up again
You took David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Prince and Sharon Jones
Terry Wogan, Ronnie Corbett, Caroline Aherne and Leonard Cohen
Victoria Wood was enough for us but still you wanted more
Muhammad Ali, Gene Wilder, and the Great British Bake-Off was the final straw
You shot down a gorilla, we can't cure the zika virus
And the woman's still to blame when men force their way inside us
Brock Turner's not a rapist, 'cause just look how fast he swims
Can someone get me Ambien to calm my shaking quim?
Should we just try to unplug you and then plug you back in?
Did your parents get divorced or did you just drink too much gin?
Goddamnit, 2016, and on top of all of that Cats is back on Broadway. Who the fuck did that?
Then throw in all the shootings, both en masse and by police
A spike in racist hate crimes and a bombing down in Nice
The death toll is upsetting, and your politics a farce
Thank you, 2016, you fucked us up the arse
'Cause all over the world it's not looking good for you
If you're female, Muslim, POC or LGBTQ
And God fucking forbid we'd let Hilllary be in charge
Instead we get the spunk trumpets and fuckboys in this farce
Yes, you really took a dump when you let twat-nugget Farage
Lead a racist referendum - who put that shitty frog in charge?
Your Brexit was a dumb-dumb, now our country lives in fear
You really are the skidmark of all the shitty years
Yes, the USA's now governed by a fuck-cheeto with hair
And it's not just in the States; the fucking clowns are everywhere
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Three cheers for fucking Trumpy and his neo-Nazi crew
What a bloody, nasty, messy, booby-fuck to-do
We're sorry for the swearing
And we're sorry to be crude
But we're really cunting angry
And it's all because of you
You laid an egg of solid fuck
You taint-slug made of wee
You garbage-bag of bum dust
You are shitty, shitty 2016
Remember the days when we spent less time ranting about human rights and much, much more time ranting about whether toilet-roll holders were covered? What can we say? A good rant is a good rant, whatever the topic.
Mythbusters showing us why ONE SHOULD ALWAYS SNEEZE INTO ONE'S GODDAMN ELBOW AND NEVER, EVER INTO ONE'S GODDAMN HAND FOR FUCK'S SAKE PEOPLE HARDEN THE FUCK UP: Sneeze Spray
As all regular readers are aware, Christmas is celebrated on the 24th in all civilised parts of the world*, including, but not limited to, Colombia. As everyone who reads this blog on at least a semi-regular basis is also aware, we would not ever want to foist our opinions on anyone, but it is a recognised fact that celebrating Christmas on any other day but the 24th is weird, incomprehensible, and indicating poor judgment.
Let us thus begin immediately, on this the 24th day of December, getting the season off to a healthy start by admiring this picture of Jonny in Santa hat, taking a toilet selfie!
*Counting, naturally, countries where Christmas is celebrated, only. We are in no way suggesting that parts of the world where Christmas is not celebrated are not civilised. Caveat over, who's for a drink?
WOOF! AMIRIGHT?
Is it ever hot in here? God knows if it's the roaring Yule logs or Jonny's noble physique that's the cause, but we are fanning ourselves rather vigorously!
Next, we have some heartwarming pictures from Meandering Friend, which were first shown to us on 13 December at the traditional Lucia celebration at Lunds Studentskegård, in Lund, Sweden. This special occasion was extremely festive and looked like this:
If you want something done with intelligence, humour, and pizzazz - like this - get academic women to do it!
Meandering Friend told us, on this screamingly celebrational day, that she'd seen the most amazing toilet where one could, if one wished, indulge in genial company and intellectual debate while heeding the call of nature, due to there being two toilets in the same bog! This seemed to us at the time, because it was very early in the morning and we were not in our right mind, like the cosiest, most Christmassy and potentially romantic concept ever! This is truly a place where you can turn the other cheek, in the spirit of Christmas!
HUNKA HUNKA! Can you imagine anything more conducive to romance? We certainly can't!
Meandering Friend, who took time out of a smokin' hot date to take these toilet pictures, writes:
Här kommer de festliga toa-bilderna från Pumphuset i Borås, granne med textilhögskolan och Textile Fashion Center. Använde även "min vän har en toablogg" som del av arsenalen i min dejtingvokabulär.
(Here are the festive toilet pictures from Pumphuset in Borås, next to the Swedish School of Textiles and the Textile Fashion Center. Also used the "my friend runs a toilet blog" gambit as part of the arsenal in my dating vocabulary.)
We are of course delighted to have facilitated the developement of tender feelings by providing bog-related conversation material!
Meandering Friend, who has an interest in materials, would like to point out the enticing blue hue imparted by some kind of wood impregnation.
If this excting knob, like something from a fire hydrant, doesn't make you burst into an excited "WOOF!!", we don't know what will.
Meandering Friend continues:
Fick tyvärr inte möjlighet att testa dubbeltoan då jag denna dag dejtade en person av motsatt kön. Lite besviken.
(Unfortunately didn't get the chance to test the double toilet as I was on this occasion dating a person of the opposite sex. Quite disappointed.)
On our enquiring whether the date was successful, this rampantly intelligent materials expert replied:
Och jodå, två öl och skulpturpromenad. Jag var helnöjd.
(Yeah, two beers and a walk in a sculpture park. I was more than happy.)
Let's give the love birds some space, by engaging in a Festive Video and looking the other way while they canoodle! As you know we are fond of our country music here at the Privy Counsel - the more vulgar the better! We do actually, believe it or not, have some even more vulgar country Christmas songs up our conniving sleeve, but for now, let's stomp our boots to this one:
Festive video - Suzy Bogguss, Two-Step 'Round the Christmas Tree Tally-ho and merry Christmas!
In which we attempt to engage our readers in an interactive voting activity, and only get one single vote (we won't be doing that again, you wankers): A Very Wet Blog Post
An undiscriminating pile of every single one of our posts featuring Christmas
