SCROGGLED AGAIN!

Christmas is already here - at least, in the English village of Haworth in West Yorkshire.

It arrived last Saturday (or Scroggleve, as it's known in the tiny hamlet), when fairies and pixies and elves roam the cobblestone streets welcoming Santa and his missus and the Spirit of Christmas and handing out bunches of holly they've scroggled.

You won't find "scroggle" in the dictionary.  It appears to mean "gather", although no one seems able to explain its origin.

I suspect it was invented by some patron of The Black Bull after he'd had a few tankards of ale, but we'll never know for certain. So, we'll just have to count it as another of those maddening British expressions that puzzle scholars and vex outsiders (which I think may have been the intention in the first place).

And as for holly, well, I've never been fond of it.

When my parents lived in the Ozarks, they had some growing in their front yard - nasty, prickly, unlovely stuff that seemed good for nothing more than sheltering lizards and so persistent that it proved almost impossible to shift.

Let's face it. Holly's not as sexy as mistletoe or as pretty as poinsettias, but somehow its spiny green leaves and bright red berries have become emblematic of the Holiday Season.  And the good folk of Haworth have turned The Scroggling Of The Holly into a colourful annual event complete with parades, a pipe band, Morris Dancers and even a Holly Queen.

Set in the middle of the Pennine moors and better known as the home of the Brontes, Haworth takes its scroggling very seriously - so much so that they dress their children in Victorian costumes and seem incredibly reluctant to explain why such a festive fuss should be made over a plant whose berries may be attractive to birds but are mildly toxic to humans.

But then, many Christmas customs are cryptic. And just about any old excuse for a little partying will do at this increasingly cold and dark time of year.

So, I say, get out there and scroggle - even if you're not sure what you're doing... or why!

It's the Holiday Season when, after a few nogs, nobody's quite sure of anything.