Merry Christmas!

It's 1pm, and so Prince Rupprecht of Saukopf-Bachscuttel is having his breakfast.
His chamberlain, Leopold von Fecklenburg, enters the room. As is so often the case, Fecklenburg instantly regrets this decision and concludes that a much better one would have been to have kept the door firmly closed and then to have bashed his own head against it until he fell mercifully unconscious.

'You're not wearing any britches, sire' says Fecklenburg.

In other places, such a statement might be uttered in tones of surprise, shock, or horror, and might also be uttered with a good chance of then being answered by a reply such as "Goodness, how terrible, you are correct - I shall at once repair to my bed chambers and cover my nether regions with a socially appropriate yet fashionable garment designed to envelop me from the waist down". But this is Mittelheim, so the chamberlain utters the phrase in the same tone as one might say 'the sky is blue", "the night is dark" or "this sausage is really quite small".

Rupprecht frowns in a way that implies that Fecklenburg's inquiry is entirely superfluous because the sky is indeed blue, the night is quite dark and, yes, obviously, this sausage is tiny. 

'I'm having a bottomless brunch', the prince says.

The chamberlain considers this. 'My lord, I don't think that this is what "bottomless brunch" means: I think that the phrase refers to having unlimited booze with one's food'.
'But I do that anyway', says Rupprecht, confused. 'So where's the Christmas fun in that?'
The chamberlain considers a range of replies. Almost all of them will result in the prince having him executed. Since that would at least mean that Fecklenburg wouldn't have to talk to Rupprecht anymore, it's a close call before he comes up with something more neutral.

'How do you think your end-of-year speech to the nobility went, my lord?'

Rupprecht considers this. 'Well, I should say. I hit all the right notes. You were there: it was, I think you'll agree, very moving'.
'In the sense, sire, that most of the audience moved into another room, I think that you are correct'.
'Fie and tush, Fecklenburg: I was magnificent: stirring, and yet sensitive. It was a special moment: a coming together - a moment of extraordinary mutual connection. I don't think that I go too far in saying that the audience touched me, and that I, in so many ways, touched them'.
'Indeed sire: I think that it was touching them that caused them to leave the room. That, and the surprise distribution of Christmas monkeys'.

As this modest publication has already noted, a traditional Christmas in the Palatinate of Saukopf-Bachscuttel isn't complete without the addition of a monkey, greased in lard, which is chased until it is exhausted and then used as the centre-piece for the Christmas table decorations. How this tradition came to be isn't clear and is probably best not investigated without the means to scrub oneself clean.

'And did you get the one that I sent you for Christmas, Fecklenburg?'

The chamberlain extends his arm in order to show Rupprecht the bites.

'Indeed sire. And thank you for gifting me an angry primate instead of a country estate or a large sum of money'.

'You're welcome', replies Rupprecht. 'It's at this time of year, hands covered with fur, lard, and teeth-marks, that I like to reflect on what really matters in life'.

'Pigs, my lord?' enquires Fecklenburg.

Rupprecht looks hurt. 'No, no, chamberlain: I mean family, friendship, and human kindness'.

'Really, sire?' replies Fecklenburg, impressed and a little moved.

'No, not really - of course it's pigs' says the prince chortling.

At the end of another year, the editors of this modest publication wish all of/both of/our reader(s) a restful festive period and the hope that the coming year brings you in large measure good and gentle things.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!