I won’t bore you with a lot of Blah Blah blah about Christmas. You’re probably fed up with the whole thing by now and I don’t blame you. Unless of course you live in a non-Christian country, or under a rock, or in China, all of which amount to the same vis-a-vis Yule. Here, deep in the Arsehole At The End Of The World, known by brave travelers as A Bloody Awful Place, and by those who have never visited simply as China, Christmas is officially banned. Students caught celebrating it are expelled from skool or university and their families put on a watch list. Officials are sacked, shot and their families sent a bill for the bullet. I merely put a red coat and hat on the statue of that other fat, red cunt Mao Zedong we have outside the factory reception building.

I fancied going to a show or performance this year, something to take my mind off the never-ending pollution (now officially known as “Fog” according to the stern, Poe-faced man from The Government who personally came to see me, and who was surprised when I laughed in his face and told him to fuck off pronto chop-chop quick-quick) and endless political bullshit that we’ve been enduring since the current monster came to power. I saw that Rhythm Of The Dance was in town, so booked a ticket.

Now, I’m not normally one for all that tippy-tap nonsense, but I figured if anyone could pull it off, it would be the old bog-leapers. And Irish music is generally the best music for the Chronically Depressed to listen to, as evidenced by thousands of generations of chronically depressed Irish peasants. And, after all, it is a world famous production. Which might just be slightly taking advantage of the success of Lord Of The Dance, which just a wee bit took advantage of the success of Riverdance. But whatever, even a copy of a copy of some Paddy tip-tap is better than what we normally get in China.

And, indeed, it really was a good performance, and one that I heartily recommend you go and see. In fact, the only thing about it that wasn’t first-rate, was the fact that is was performed in China, at the very expensive, and very imposing, Shanghai Grand Theatre.

The sound system was shit, with the speakers distorting the sound badly and the levels so out of whack that some instruments and voices you couldn’t hear while others hurt your ears. The lighting was atrocious, with the idiots running the spots never able to find the performers or keep up with them. One of the computer-controlled lights had either been programmed wrong, or was in need of repair, or had recently been repaired by a Chinaman. And two of the ushers had brought along laser pointers in order to try to blind the performers and distract the audience, which even for Chinese is a new low. If you fired the entire staff and replaced them with kindergartners, it would be a damned sight better.

SO, this year my Christmas Message is aimed at anyone thinking of bringing any of The Arts to China:

“Don’t come, for your own sake. But also, please do come, because no matter how much the Chinese will try to fuck you up, there are some of us here who need you badly, and it’s getting harder every day.”

To the National Dance Company of Ireland, a special Thank You from me. And to all the rest of you, a special Thank You from our very own Christmas Eve:

Stay tuned for more Sinocidal, from the vaults…