'Meery and Joseph aren't maddied, but Meery's pregnant. Don't ask how - you're getting into a whole wurdled of trouble there'

SORCHA INVITES myself and Ro over to put up the deckies and it's nice, just the three of us, plus Honor, doing it as a kind of - I suppose - family, writes Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

The baubles - bought from local craft shops and made from fully sustainable materials - have been hung on the Earth-friendly, agrichemical-free tree, which Sorcha had imported from Norway, paying money to some reforestation crowd in Peru for the carbon offset.

So the world's happy.

I certainly am. I'm actually thinking, this is what Christmas is really about - family. And mulled wine. And Quality Street. And a Bond on RTÉ2.

Ronan takes Honor by the hand and tells us they're going into the living-room to set up, like, the nativity scene? Sorcha pulls a face at me and goes, "I was thinking of having, like, a secular Christmas this year? It's just that, oh my God, Shiloh and Poet - as in, Honor's little friends? - they're coming around for a playdate on Christmas Eve. They're not Christians, Ross. I so don't want to, like, cause offence?"

But then the two of us suddenly stop and listen to Ronan's voice coming from the next room. "Reet - this is Meery. And this is Joseph. They're not maddied - but Meery's pregnant. Don't ask how - you're getting into a whole wurdled of trouble there.

"Thee have to go from Nazarit to Betlihem for a thing called a census. Nowadays, the form comes around - think you can even do it online. But remember, reet, there's no internet. There's no cars, no Danny Day, no nuttin - just a donkey. That's reet, Honor - this fella here. Good girdle.

"So Meery's up on he's back and they're pretty much in Betlihem. They're in, say, Lucan - heading in . . ."

Me and Sorcha are both just listening with our mouths open. "Meery gets a pain," he goes. "Says she, 'Here, Joseph, this fella's coming tonight.' Says he, 'Are ye shewer?' Says she, 'You bettah believe I'm shewer - he's kicking like Mossy Quinn here.'

"There's no Holles Street, of course. There's no even Mount Keermil. So Joseph spies this inn - say it's the Spawell for argument's sake . . ."

"Hey," I'm suddenly whispering to Sorcha, "we should be, like, recording this. It's like those poor kids from the inner city. Shocking holy saint. They made a focking fortune."

She's like, "Ross, I don't think even you would stoop so low as to try to make money off your son's back." I better not tell her we're spending Christmas in Vegas. She shushes me anyway.

"So Joseph," Ronan goes, "he sidles up to the doe-her. Says he, 'Any chance of getting one of yisser rooms and that?' Sham who runs the place says, 'Ah, you're outta luck, me auld flower. We're buked out. It's all redundancy peerties and that. You know yisserselves - the economy and that.'

"I'm putting a modorden spin on this now, Honor. So Joseph looks at this sham and says he, 'Is there any rooms in this town?' and the fella says, 'Is there wha? There's nuttin but rooms in this town. See them apeertments over there?'

"Joseph says, 'The ones with the scaffolding still up? Yeah, what's the Johnny McGory?'

"Says he, 'Builder can't finish them - banks won't give him any mower moo. He'd let you put yisser heads down there - a hundrit a week, I'd say - no references, nuttin. He's desprit.

"Next thing, they're in! A property with huge potential in an up-and-coming area, convenient to all local transport links. And it's there that Meery has the baby - a little baby boy, reet. Thee wrap him in swoddelin, whatever that is, and thee call him Jesus.

"That's it, Honor, you put him in there - the little bitty baby, born in Betlihem.

"Now, these fellas here - yeah, thee look like shepherds, don't thee? But they're not. They're pig feermers. And they're after losing their livelihoods, reet, because the pigs is infected with all sorts. No one wants their sausages and their rashers any mower. So now they're on the streets, reet, and they're looking for somewhere. So Joseph says, 'Come on in.' Gives them a room. Doesn't even sublet it. Gives it to them.

"Now, these shams here, with the crowns on their heads - they're after being sent by the banks. They're the repo men. And see what's in their hands there? Keys to a BMW X5 in titanium metallic silver. Deeds to a villa in Puerta Banus. And a Rangemaster, American, double doe-her, faridge-fareezer with a built-in wather and oice dispenser.

"That's it, put them in there. Because thee get wardened in a dream to change their ways, see. So thee do. And now thee've nowhere to stay thumselves, so Joseph says, 'Lads, loads of room in here - you'll be moostard.'

"And the reason they're moostard is because of this little one here looking over them. And you know what we're gonna call her? We're gonna call her Honor - because what she is, see, is a little angel . . ."

I turn and look at Sorcha. We've both got tears streaming down our faces.

"This stordee," he goes, "you can tell it loads of diffordent ways, but it all stacks up the same. Me ma says this is what Christmas is about, see. It's not about the presents. Except only a little bit. It's about us all loving one anutter. "And that, me little segosha, is the stordee of Christmas."

Follow Ross's adventures online at www.irishtimes.com/blogs/lifewithross