Tis The Season To Be Jolly

Unless, of course, you're Alfred Lord Tennyson, in which case:

With trembling fingers did we weave
  The holly round the Chrismas hearth;
  A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas-eve.


At our old pastimes in the hall
  We gambol'd, making vain pretence
  Of gladness, with an awful sense
Of one mute Shadow watching all.


We paused: the winds were in the beech:
  We heard them sweep the winter land;
  And in a circle hand-in-hand
Sat silent, looking each at each.

So whatever happens this Christmas - if the tree falls down and the turkey explodes and the bread sauce congeals on the kitchen floor -just remember it could be worse. You could have Tennyson with you.

 Let's play charades.