Last week, shortly before he gave us no choice, Boris Johnson urged us to have ourselves “a very little Christmas.” His words were, of course, a reference to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, a song which I used to hate.
First sung by Judy Garland, it’s been covered countless times — mostly in syrup. I blame Frank Sinatra, whose schmaltzy 1957 version smothered the essential sadness of the melody and lyrics. Indeed, he had the words rewritten. Thus “next year all our troubles will be out of sight” became “from now on, our troubles will be out of sight”.
