Carol’s Column

Heppy Klissimus to you, too

HEPPY KLISSIMUS”, said a strange, wild-haired, toothless man as he waved a box in my face.

“Heppy Klissimus,” I replied warmly.

“Does the Mérrêm remember Old Josius?”

“Er ... Old Josius?”

“Yes, Old Josius fixed the Mérrêms drains in 1968. Remember?”

“Ah, yes, of course I remember.” Did I have drains in 1968? “And how is Old Josius?”

“Well, thank you, Mérrêm. But times is hard now, you know.” He shook the box under my nose again. “And, so, I thought the Mérrêm could ease my burden a bit with a little bit of Heppy Klissimus.”

“Of course, Josius, of course.”

I made a suitable donation towards easing Josius's burden, shook hands and watched him walk somewhat unsteadily down the garden path.

Ah yes, Klissimus is here again.

At the garage, the petrol pump attendant filled up my car, bared his teeth and smiled. Smiled? In the past year, he hasn't grimaced once in my direction, let alone smile. “And a Heppy Klissimus,” he added for good cheer, smiling once again when I popped something into his Klissimus box.

Four milkmen delivered one bottle of milk on Monday. And smiled expectantly. “Will the Madam be going away for the holidays?” they enquired.

When I nodded, they all smiled agreeably. And stood.

“Ah, Klissimus,” I muttered, as the R5 note dropped.

The postman, normally a shy, retiring sort, popped in for a short chat. “Will you take a Christmas cheque?” I asked rather embarrassedly, “I'm out of money.”

“Anything, anything,” he murmured. “Make it cash.”

The rat man, roof man, gardener, fence man, supermarket trolley loader and supermarket trolley pusher have wished me “Heppy Klissimus”. And over the weekend, the dustbin men serenaded me for 10 minutes with a magnificent song and dance routine.

“Heppy Klissimus,” they all shouted as I handed over the Klissimus box.

“Aren't you early this year?” I asked the chief dustbin man.

“Yes, Médêm. But we lost out last Klissimus because so many people left early to go on holiday. So we thought we'd strike early.”

The veggie man, flower salesman and packer of frozen chicken thighs, each wished me 'Heppy Klissimus' as did the fish lady and my shampoo girl at the hairdresser.

I was running out of small change. I mentioned this to the car-wash attendant as he brushed, washed and shined my husband's car simultaneously.

“Don't worry, Mrs Lazar,” he said cheerily, “I accept notes.”

Our toilet has always been temperamental. For the past four years, it has chosen the holiday season to break down, develop a leak, get blocked or overflow.

So why should this year be different?

“Ma, the toilet is gurgling,” observed Jamie, as he shot out to waken the neighbourhood with his homemade go-kart.

So I called the plumber.

Who duly arrived with his three henchmen. One to hold a spanner, one to turn it and one to plug the gurgle.

It took them two hours to find and silence the gurgle. And then they stood happily, proud of a job well done and wished me 'Heppy Klissimus'.

What's nice about Christmas is all the old memories that are always evoked.

Such as when the nappy service delivery man popped in to wish me the compliments of the season.

I contributed to his Klissimus box and laughingly we recalled the good old days, 10 years ago, which was the last time I used the nappy service.

The paper boys both chose the same day to wish the Lazars Happy Christmas.

The finale came when the washerwoman came for her “Klissimus boxie” which she duly received with much smiling and “God Blessus”.

It was only as she waddled her way to the gate, her rear shaking in the breeze, that I realised I don't have and never have had a washerwoman in my life.

Ah, well, Heppy Klissimus to you, too.

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