20 December 2003
Stockings. What's the deal with them, then? Why do I always get a satsuma? I hate satsumas. Does Santa hate me?
Anna: Why is it never gloves?
Meg: or tights?
Anna: but why footwear, that was my question.
Anna: what's symbolic about feet and presents?
Meg: it's quite arbitrary, i think
Meg: you couldn't get many presents into gloves
Meg: unless you had ENORMOUS hands
Meg: like
Meg: um
Meg: someone with enormous hands
Anna: like jeremy beadle's nemesis.
Anna: but there's something... you know.. insanitary about presents which come wrapped in footwear.
Meg: depends on your feet, I suppose
Meg: and depends on the footwear. socks, yes. strappy sandals, no. your presents would keep dropping out the sides.
Meg: I was always mystified at the idea of using stockings, to be honest
Meg: until i realised that actually meant long socks
Anna: what else would it mean?
Meg: rather than, say, flimsy seethrough nylon things with a seam up the back. that kind of stockings.
Meg: which would be a bit of a disappointment on christmas morning
Meg: not much of a surprise there, really, unless your granny was wearing them
Anna: Because you'd be able to see what was in them?
Meg: you'd be able to stand over the other side of the living room and go "oh look, someone's filled my hosiery with a hairbrush, some gold chocolate coins and a satsuma. great. I don't think I'll bother, actually."
Anna: stockings are not much of a suprise anyway, really.
Anna: Well, ours weren't, particularly.
Meg: Yup. Same things, every year.
Anna: A satsuma.
Meg: i hate satsumas. I'm not fond of oranges and I'm not wild about tangerines, but I reserve a special level of loathing for satsumas, precisely because of the disappointment inherent in finding one at the toe end of my stocking EVERY SINGLE YEAR.
Anna: a pen.
Meg: a hair brush, comb set or some sort of hair ornament
Meg: a paperback book
Anna: a spinning top.
Meg: a comic (beano or dandy)
Meg: chocolate coinage
Meg: a pair of gloves. Or a new pair of socks.
Meg: That was pretty postmodern and meta
Meg: socks within socks
Anna: a lump of coal.
Meg: you liar. we never had coal.
Anna: alright.
Anna: I just thought the spinning top sounded a bit victorian.
Meg: there should be more Victoriana in stockings, I reckon.
Meg: Not in a kinky way, you understand.
Meg: like, this year every stocking should contain at least one whippet
Anna: some knuckledusters.
Anna: a penny farthing
Meg: a pit pony
Meg: small soot-blackened urchin in a flat cap
Anna: a chintz armchair.
Meg: a below-the-stairs maid
Anna: a deerstalker hat
Meg: and a fucking satsuma. Of course.
Anna: of course.