Christmas Eve is Jojo Collins's birthday. He was christened "Jojo" after St Joseph. His mother wanted to call him "Jesus", but his dad insisted it would only be putting notions in a lad's head and with a name like Jesus Collins he'd be crucified at school. Jojo regularly complains that his birthday and the celebration of the birth of the first Christian have been amalgamated into one event, one cake and unfortunately, one present. But without fail, each year he receives two presents from his auntie, Sister Therese.
Seemingly Sister Therese decided to devote her life to God so she joined an enclosed order, taking a strict vow of silence - poverty and celibacy went without saying. Wanting for nothing, Sister Therese is a difficult woman to buy a Christmas present for, so Jojo never bothered.
In Cork we have a saying, "Give that which you most cherish, for to give that which you do not want, is but an insult". In a funny sort of way, these words of wisdom not only justified the perceived loneliness of the path taken by Sister Therese, but also explained her selection of presents for Jojo. Christmas after Christmas a little envelope would arrive by post; enclosed, a holy medal and a card with an edited version of the life and times of her favourite saint. And Christmas after Christmas Jojo would chuck the medal and card into the bin.
When Jojo turned 18, he gathered together a bundle of his most cherished possessions: Georgie Best's autograph, (he got it that day Georgie togged out for Cork Hibs), a bootleg recording of Never Mind The Bollocks by the Sex Pistols signed by Glen Matlock, three copies of Playboy magazine smuggled into Ireland following a school tour to Stratford-on-Avon, two reefers of home-grown greenery, and a Mars bar - Jojo loves Mars bars. He gift-wrapped his little bundle and headed off to the convent.
Having sat there for two hours in silence, nothing between them but ornate iron bars, Jojo poked the parcel under the grille. Sister Therese expressed her delight with a saintly smile. She then proceeded to unwrap . . .
You may well ask yourself what Jojo and Sister Therese have to do with anything - in truth, very little. And as with most real-life tales, there isn't even a moral attached. But it does epitomise a recurring Yuletide conundrum faced by most of us when buying presents. I have an uncanny knack of being broke all the time, so I don't get involved in the Christmas exchange programme. But two years ago I was caught totally unaware, when Jojo turned up at my gaff with a bumper box of Mars bars, festively wrapped in holly and snowman paper.
"I have a little something for you too, Jojo," I said. The lie echoed around the flat before I realised I had spoken a word. My eyes scoured the room for inspiration. That's when it occurred to me: I should give him something I held dear. So I reached under the telly, plucked out my favourite video, They Died With Their Boots On, and gave it to Jojo, explaining I hadn't had time to wrap it.
They Died With Their Boots On [1941] is an all-time classic. Set against a backdrop of romance, portrayed on a canvas stretching right across America from Washington DC to the wild west, incorporating superb battle scenes from both the civil war and the Indian wars, it tells of the rise and eventual fall of General George Armstrong Custer.
Starring Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland, a magical duo on screen. A tragicomic, romantic, all-action masterpiece - who could ask for more? But there is more - much more. During the making of this film, Flynn divorced from his wife Lili Damita and it is rumoured that he proposed to de Havilland. She declined. Ironically it was to be their final film together, giving special poignancy to the farewell scene before Custer rode off to the Little Big Horn. This black and white movie is a rainbow of colour - and all my friend Jojo could muster up was a glazed expression and a feeble handshake.
That was two Christmases ago. Last Christmas Eve, Jojo turned up at my place again. Without excuse or shame he handed me They Died With Their Boots On. "Happy Christmas," he said. Like a junkie needing a fix I immediately jacked the video into the VCR. As the credits rolled I remembered: the Mars bars he had given me were still under the couch - unopened. We rooted ourselves into the couch for the full 140 minutes, I gave him the low-down on Flynn and de Havilland, he spoke about nothing else but Mars bars. We were as happy as two piggies in . . . whatever makes piggies happy.
