December 23rd (21.43)
Things are very tense with M. at the moment. We got into a blazing row after coming home from our pre-natal class.
Afterwards she asked me had I booked the accommodation for Bethlehem. To diffuse the situation, I said yes. That was a lie. I was meant to tell the shepherd Shobal, the son of Ezer, who recently begat Azariah, to tell his brother Pharaz, who runs an inn in Bethlehem with his three cousins from Rehoboth - Dishon, Hamul and Zadog - to set aside a room for us. But I forgot. There shouldn't be any problems though. I mean, it's a one-horse town in the back of beyond, and it's not exactly peak season. It's just that I'd hate for M. to end up in the middle of nowhere having to give birth in some stable - but that's just my hyperactive worried mind working overtime again. We'll be fine. Fingers crossed.
December 24th (06.57)
Made an early start to beat the rush. Roads are still packed. It's donkey to donkey all the way out of Nazareth.
December 24TH (14.23)
Still outside Nazareth. I hate travelling at this time of year. Never again!
December 24TH (18.56)
Arrived in Bethlehem. To my eternal relief, there was one unoccupied room at the inn. But M. wanted to look at it first. She wasn't impressed with it at all. OK, there was that stale smell, and the mattress had seen better days and the towels weren't that fresh, but it didn't bother me that much. I guess, because I'm a man, and men don't notice these things. Well, that's what M. always claims anyway. I whispered, "Let's take it", but M. insisted under her breath: "No, we'll get something better somew here else." That was five hours ago.
December 24TH (11.52)
Have finally settled into our accommodation and, to be honest, it's not perfect. In fact, my worst nightmare has come true. We have ended up in the middle of nowhere waiting for M. to give birth in some stable. Well, the estate agent calls it a mews, but basically it's a stable. We've leased it for a month. Thank God we bumped into that estate agent. I was getting so frustrated, as all the other places were full up.
December 25TH (13.06)
I am a father. I can't remember much about the birth because I passed out during M.'s contractions. I'm gobsmacked that little old me, Joseph the Carpenter, is responsible for bringing this tiny creature into this world. Well, sort of responsible. I'm still not completely clear in my mind about the exact sequence of events all those months ago, but I'm prepared to put all that to one side because this is a momentous day.
December 28TH (21. 18)
Up all last night using my carpentry skills to sharpen a bit of wood into a deadly lethal hunting weapon. For I now have to become a ruthless hunter/provider to feed my growing family. However, five minutes after I left this morning, a few street kids jumped me and stole my wooden spear. Chastened but not broken, I later contemplate wrestling with a rather menacing-looking rabbit I spot in a field. Deciding against said course of action , I end up dithering in someone's vegetable patch. Running off with my meagre takings of three black olives and a tomato, I curse my luck I wasn't born a lion, for in the animal kingdom the lionesses have to go out and get the food.
After a perilous return journey, I arrive back full of self- loathing and disgust. I walk into that shed we call home and notice some loaves and fishes in the corner. I ask M. where she got them and she swears blind she doesn't know. She tells me she dropped off to sleep for 10 seconds, and when she awoke they were there.
Later had a most satisfying meal. There must be something in the water round these parts for it tasted just like wine.
December 31ST (22.46)
New Year's Eve. Can't get to sleep with the parties and the revellers. We decide to have a quiet night in this year, having difficulty organising a babysitter at such short notice. Anyway M. said she didn't have anything nice to wear. Last year she spent hours getting ready. And then on her way out she turns to me and says: "You're not going out in that, are you"? Somehow M. has got it into her head that an orange robe doesn't go with brown sandals. I reluctantly acquiesced and changed into my beige smock. Later we spent a rather convivial evening with our friends Joachim and Jezabethum. Joachim is in the pickled locust business and he spent the whole time trying to convince me that pickled locusts were the future. He made some cogent arguments and even a year later I am still debating whether to pack in carpentry and give it a go. He wrote to me recently saying business is booming and that we'll formulate a business plan once he comes out of hiding.
January 6TH (21. 35)
I was in the middle of changing my first nappy this afternoon when a voice said "hello". I turned around and saw these three old guys just standing there with bags of stuff. From the word go, I didn't trust them. In life, you always have to go with your initial instincts. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested," I said. They said: "No, you've got it all wrong." They then told me they were the three wise men. "Oh, well, excuse me," I thought. I called out to M. in a slightly sarcastic manner: "Come here. I want you to meet 'the three wise men', not just ordinary men, mind you, wise men".
Then I really had a go at them. "Well, we are 'the two tired people'; what do you want?" They started going on about the baby and they took out the stuff from the bags and I told them: "Look, I said it before, I'm not interested." And they said: "No, we want to give you the stuff." So they removed some gold, frankincense and myrrh, and it was obviously imitation, bad imitation at that, and they just said: "Take it".
Karl MacDermott is currently writer- in-residence at his home in Kilmainham