Andy Richardson: A world of difference on the big day

He'll achkchully leev the North Powl around 10am Sedgeley time before gooing to Osstraylia and New Zeelund fust. After that, he'll be dropping off dickshunrees to wenches in Wensbry and Jakomo coots to blowkes in Bridgnorth.

God bless the yam yam. What would Christmas be without him? Ho ho ho, ay it?

Now, before we continue, let's just do a quick roll call? Are you all still with us and do you understand what we're saying . . ? The guys at the back seem to be scratching their heads and looking puzzled. And we just heard one of you whisper: 'Has he started on the Christmas snowballs too soon – that advocaat is potent stuff?'

For readers who don't understand the Black Country dialect or who, in the best traditions of the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, don't have a babel fish in their ear, let me explain.

Yam Yam Santa is a fictional festive character – not an edible tuber eaten on December 25. I mean, who'd eat yams on Christmas Day when there's Aunt Bessies' roasties to plough through? You'd have to be really, really daft to do that. Yam Yam Santa is, actually, the comic nom de plume of a fella who will fill the Twittersphere during the coming week with amusing 140-character missives. He considers it his quest to spread good tidings.

A garrulous man with a penchant for ripostes worthy of Grumpy Old Gits – whatever happened to them? – he'll only engage with the masses if they've not done anything really, really bad: like abduct a child for 100 days or lie to the police about their husband being a wife beater. So if you're thinking of doing either of those things between now and Christmas – and let's face it, the 100-day task would be pretty difficult – don't.

Otherwise there'll be no Yam Yam Santa for you.

Of course, our Shropshire brethren will have no use for a Yam Yam. While a few Black Country ex-pats might be looking forward to their Boxing Day angowva, most will be looking forward to more refined pursuits. Dressed in tweeds and piping on hunting bugles, they'll ditch the traditional turkey for Kentucky Fried Pheasant from Shrowsbury's finest restaurants. And Slade's Merry Christmas Everybody won't go anywhere near their turntable: in Salop, it will be Carol Decker's T'Pau or nothing. Chinah In Yer 'Ond…..

Festive customs are different in each part of the world.

On December 25, 1.3 billion Chinese will wake up and and say: 'Sheng Dan Kuai Le'. Actually they won't. Because Sheng Dan Kuai Le is Mandarin. And Cantonese speakers won't have any truck with that. They'll be wishing one another: 'Sheng Dan Kuai Le'. Erm, actually, they won't. Because only one per cent of people in China are Christians and hardly any know about Christmas. We were just trying to be clever by dazzling you with our multi-lingual capabilities – but you saw straight through us and realised we'd just done a lazy Google trick. Silly us.

Christmas comes early to Papua New Guinea, which is all to do with their position on the Earth rather than a naughty, December 24 rush to open their presents. 'Bikpela hamamas blong dispela Krismas na Nupela yia i go long yu', is how they'll say Merry Christmas, while in Italy it will be: 'Buone Feste Natalizie'.

The world is full of curious Christmas traditions. Hell, some people even believe there's a big bearded guy dressed in a red cloak who parks a sleigh on the roof then slides down the chimney before delivering presents and nicking sherry and mince pies. Can you believe it? Ha.

In India, the locals go bananas – quite literally. The absence of fir trees and pines means people cover banana trees with tinsel, sticking a fairy on the top of an upturned banana. Which sounds a bit painful if you're the fairy.

The Japanese do things in style; forming an orderly queue at KFC to eat their festive lunch. Colonel Sanders sells between five and 10 times more chicken than normal at this time of year: In Japan, Christmas equals KFC.

But my favourite festive tradition takes place in Venezuela, where kids in Caracas tie one end of a string to their big toe before going to bed, with the other end being left outside their bedroom window. In the morning, passers-by on roller skates gently tug the strings to wake the kids up so that they know it's Christmas. Using an alarm clock might be easier, but, hey, who are we to judge?

After all, in our neck of the woods, we have a blowke called Yam Yam Santa who guz on the noit shift on December 24 before racing rarnd the worlyd on his slay.

Ho ho ho, ay it.