Win vouchers to spend at any Tesco store

Competition No 3863

Set by Margaret Rogers, 1 January

You were asked what you did for Christmas.

Report by Ms de Meaner

Well, I suppose "you" is often used loosely, to mean "one", which can lead on to "anyone" and thence to . . . Tracey Emin? But that's the compers for you. John O'Byrne decided to send in my Christmas ("23 December: All comp offices closed. Have scoured the internet looking for residuals. Discover one (limericks) in an Oregon paper and another (silly palindromes) in an Alice Springs weekly - but, unfortunately, both have 'nationals only' restriction"). Huh! Ian Birchall sent in his own, which resonated rather disturbingly with me: "After taking time to burn my Christmas cards, I settled down for the festive weekend with eight kilos of chocolate biscuits and a biography of Stalin." Hon menshes to the above, plus £20 to the winners. The best, I think, is Neil Rennick, who also wins the Tesco vouchers.

Spent Christmas approximating Beckett's Endgame: inescapable boredom, increasingly immobile parents, palpable encroachment of despair and decrepitude, slow death of spruce prolonged by watering. Reproachful silences interrupted by ritual exchange: "Is there nothing on television?" "Yes, there's nothing on television." Several presents, few wanted, none working. Calls from absent relatives intended to connote love denote only distance. Ate until full, ate beyond full, all the while full of empty. Never turkey again, we vow, as every year until one year never anything again. Listened to the Queen's Speech; usual accretion of nothings. Drank. Quarrelled over decision to play Snap. Quarrelled over rules of Snap. Snapped. Last refuge television. All eyes glazed. All eyes fixed. All glazed eyes fixed half-seeing on The Vicar of Dibley. Last Christmas here, I vow, as every year until one year, future indeterminate, last Christmas here. Thenceforward nostalgia.

Adrian Fry

What I did for Christmas? Oh dear, I remember. How can I put this? It seemed such a good idea at the time, so original, so dangerous . . . so deliciously . . . exotic. No cards, no tree, no unwanted relatives, no jam masquerading as cranberry sauce . . . Just the two of us. Innocent fun, we thought. Well, perhaps slightly deviant. Oh, the shame of it! Now we find ourselves a pariah throughout the neighbourhood, graffiti daubed on the front door, banned from the school play, the book club, the school governing body and parents' association. The older children have left home; the youngest has been received into care. I don't know what came over us. Maybe it was the Noddy Holder song in Homebase that finally did it for us. We just thought: "What the hell. What harm can it do?" Then we went home and celebrated the birth of Christ.

David Silverman

This year we had a traditional Christmas. We started by writing the names of everyone we've ever slept with, been related to, or known vaguely, on sheets of decorated card. We then created two installations. In the front garden was My Crib, a Nativity scene with the Virgin Mary, Joseph, two wise men, a decapitated shepherd and a Teletubby as Baby Jesus. In the back garden was The Sled, an unused childhood toboggan, providing an ironic lament on global warming. On Christmas Day, we generated a series of collages from broken tree decorations, pine needles, used wrapping paper, packaging, unwanted presents and uneaten sprouts. These were then encased in black plastic bags and arranged together. Sadly, the final work was too large to display in the Turbine Hall of Tate Modern.

Neil Rennick

No 3866 Set by Grace Elegy

So . . . Prince Harry. A short apology, then silence. But what would he have said if he had been made to offer up the "proper" apology that so many people were demanding?

Max 150 words by 3 February (to appear in issue dated 14 February). E-mail: comp@newstatesman.co.uk

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