It's Christmas Eve. You can tell because The Snowman is on TV. Since Christmas 2000 I've actually bothered to watch it. I'd seen it when I was really small but forgotten it. I was driven to watch it again initially by a curiousity born from the days when Bex would go on about it nonstop for weeks beforehand, afterhand, and in the middle of summer.
Anyway so this is what happens:
- Boy builds Snowman ("we can make him tall, or we can make him not so tall")
- Snowman comes to life for some reason (possibly hit by lightning, or wished to avoid being pissed on by the family cat)
- Boy and Snowman go off on crazy and highly criminal adventures. But before that, they make a spirited attempt to trash Boy's house. How his parents don't wake up I'll never know.
- Boy and Snowman steal Boy's parents' motorcycle and proceed to vandalise local farmland. Several prolonged and malicious attempts are made to run down various local wildlife.
- Any doubts that Boy is tripping are completely removed as they proceed to go WALKEEEEENG THROUGH THE AIIIIIIRRRR-R-R-R to a wood in the middle of nowhere, where Santa, portrayed as a short, fat, alcoholic paedophile, is having a party. The atmosphere is filled with loud music and coloured lighting, and everyone is dancing, out of their heads. Any similarity to the acid house scene of the late eighties is purely coincidental.
- Boy and Snowman fly back home and Boy sneaks back in at 7am. Crashes out until noon. The little shitbag wakes up apparently without any sort of hangover, though.
- However it turns out that Snowman has
bitten off Boy's finger and fallen into Mount Doommelted. Everybody cries.
The last time I built a person out of snow it turned out to be really short and dumpy. I was compelled to give it highly uneven asymmetrical breasts, and name it Claire.