ick tock tick tock, the bloody clock is ticking on Christmas again.

Greens and reds and sanctimonious Father Christmas. Bloody hell. What is this but an excuse for shops to stock up on the toys of the year and drive mothers bonkers trying to get them for their kids? All this commercialization of a simple event where a poor mother couldn’t even get a place to spend the night and ended up in a barn where she gave birth to her son. And what presents were given to him? Myrrh, or whatever that is for his burial. Burial? Blimey. It’s like, you were just born but we’re already looking forward to your death.

Mum is always subdued. Did I say subdued? Anyway, she takes it in stride with minimal decorations and sensible presents meaning sweaters and knickers. Pop always says he don’t know what I like so he gives me money.

Blade and me don’t look forward to all this merry making. We hate the cold weather cause we can’t dress in our minis, and we hate the whole commercialization thing. I mean how many times do we have to endure another showing of, It’s A Wonderful Life on the telly? No, it’s not a wonderful life by any means. There are people out there obsessed only with coming up with ways to hurt other people. There is a lot of suffering with illnesses, hunger and war. So, no we don’t wanna see none of that silly arse movie.

I’d rather watch Eastenders any day. But, of course the reason the telly was invented is to show Absolutely Fabulous! Where else can you find a mother so bonkers that a daughter has to act proper to rebel? Sweetie-darling.

So Blade and me went about town looking for things to do. We were bundled in sweaters and coats and mittens and ear muffs… Muff? He he he. So we’re walking down the street making fun of all the Christmas shoppers and these two blokes kind of stare at us.

One of them goes, “hey”. We just look at him like the Muppet he is. He looks at Blade and goes, “I bet your fanny is so hot.” And he ain’t talking about her bum. So I go, “Yes it is but your piss-stick will never check that temperature!” Blade just burst out laughing as the blokes stumble away. “Up yer arses, tossers!” I yell after them.

“Punxie, you’re sweet,” Blade says. “Do you ever think of us going our separate ways?”

“Blimey!” I go. “No way, Blade. I see us growing up and moving in together like Edie and Patsy. Well, maybe not so much like them cause we won’t drink and smoke, but we’ll be just as wacky-evil!”

“Wacky-evil?”

“Yeah. Spoiled rotten, loud, rude, and naughty, mingling with rich snobs we despise, ya know.”

“That’d be smashing. And we’d boff all the good looking blokes.”

That just made me giggle. Just then we passed this woman with a little girl. They were both dirty and they looked sick and hungry. We didn’t say a word. Things like that are just too sad. We went home.

Five days till Christmas and I woke up with bloody cramps. Me stomach feels like it’s full of gas and me nipples are so sensitive I can’t touch them and I can feel them in me bra when I move. Bloody hell, I’m bleeding again. How in bloody hell do women go through this each month all their lives?

“I know of a way to keep the discomfort away,” Blade says having come over for breakfast. “You know when it’s gonna come. I count the days and start taking pain pills the day before it starts and keep taking them for three days. Besides, I have this attitude, like, leave me alone. You can’t touch me.” She points to her head. “It’s all in here.”

“Yeah, Blade,” I go. “but you’re extraordinary. I’m a mere mortal.”

Blade smiles. We’re eating in the kitchen mostly avoiding the papaya and avocado and putting too much butter and jam on the scones.

“Eat your fruits, girls,” Mum says peeking in. We sprinkle too much sugar on the avocado and eat it making faces.

“So, is your Pop getting you anything for Christmas?” I ask.

“I’m sure he’s buying a car so the Minor is mine, but it’s more of a present to him than me so it’s ok. It might take his mind off Mum a bit. He always misses her more during the holidays.”

“I’m sorry, Blade,” I say. Blade’s Mum had died of breast cancer when Blade was five.

“It’s ok. He’s a grown man. He can take it.”

“What about you?”

“I can barely remember her, but I miss her decorating the tree and hiding the presents and pretending Father Christmas really brought them. She was sweet. I do miss her around the holidays too, Punxie.”

“I know you miss her at other times too, Blade. It’s all right. You should never forget someone that special to you.”

“Stop talking like a grown-up, Punxie!” She grinned mischievously.

In the morning light brightly shining through the kitchen window, her hair looked fluffier, her face bright with ruby cheeks and red lips. Blade looked like a beautiful woman. She saw me staring and stuck her tongue out. Suddenly she was a kid again.

Christmas eve. It’s hectic about town with people rushing to do last minute shopping. I feel great today. Me and Mum have been working all day baking and making sandwiches. Blade pulls up in the Minor. At least it’s not snowing outside. The sun is out and bright.

“Looks like we gonna fill up the old Minor,” Blade says looking at the food and toys.

“I think we do better each year,” I say.

“Well, let’s pack up. We got plenty to do.”

“Be careful, girls,” Mum says as me and Blade take the boxes to the car. “I’m very proud of you.”

And for a year that was saddened by terrorist acts and war and diseases around the world, we found hope in the bright eyes of the children who were hungry and had no visit from Father Christmas. We drove to the poor neighbourhoods and proudly handed out the gifts we had saved all year for. We may be punks, we may be rude, but when it comes to things that matter, we do have heart.