Humbug day

I don’t know about you, but it seems that if one says “I’m not keen on Christmas” then you may as well sign the sex offenders register and defecate on Princess Diana’s grave for all the popularity you will gain.

I know I am not alone in my ambivalence towards all things festive.

I enjoy seeing my son open presents but after that it’s all down hill. Copious drinking, eating food from dawn till midnight, people talking over a TV show you want to watch. Sigh..

However, I know that men of a certain age love a good moan. It does us good, I have no empirical data to support this assertion, but as it is the time of year when magical thinking is allowed, I will assert my case.

I advocate a world wide holiday of moaning, being grumpy, brutal honesty and sobriety.

One day where we can really let rip.

It’s more likely to bring peace on Earth than some fat bloke trying to squeeze down your chimney.

 

It’s December…let’s go insane

Ok, so it is December. I’ve received cards, been invited to parties and over heard numerous discussions from ladies about what they are planning to wear on their Christmas parties since about the 6th of November.

The radio continues to play ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham. Some of the ladies I work with coo appreciatively. The radio announcer cheerfully announces that there are only ‘so many’ days left before Christmas. They make it sound as if the few days off work are akin to the apocalypse. That hundreds and thousands of people will be killed off having either strangled each other with tinsel or having overdosed on sprouts.

In the states, one can see the effects of cut-price holiday sales resulting in riots, the use of pepper sprays and people being injured in the resulting human stampede.
In the UK the high street, which ordinarily is made of bricks, mortar and tarmac, has gained a voice and now decries a lack in consumer confidence.

I must admit, I have always been puzzled by the phrase consumer confidence. What on Earth is that supposed to mean? Are the eponymous consumers such a neurotic breed that they flit between states of high confidence and suicidal despair like a florid bi-polar patient in a gyroscope?

Silly season is upon us

Ah joy. I’ve heard my first Christmas carol today. Okay it’s not a carol but it’s a christmas song. In September. I’m not keen on forced joviality, it seems a bit Teutonic for my liking. When I was a young man I worked for a time in a cinema. A fabulous old building that is sadly no longer in use. The seats smelt musty, the walls were covered in a thick brown tar like substance that was more akin to a smokers lung rather than any form of paint.
It was there that I began to empathise with Jean Paul Satre. He wrote a play called ‘No-Exit’. Essentially in this play, 4 characters are locked in a room for all eternity, which lead Satre to the immortal line ‘Hell is other people’. Well, it was like that at the cinema. 4 people on duty, a hot, dark and strange smelling building, where ghosts would be afraid to haunt in case they caught something. We were there for 8 hours per day and listening to christmas songs, played endlessly, haunting our ears and driving us further into insanity.
It was like a scene from a Lovecraft novel, or a greek tragedy featuring Sisyphus.
Hence now, when I listen to Christmas songs I feel as though part of me is dying. As though a streak of melancholy runs through my being and solidifies.
I will have to overcome this though as I’ve been cast in the upcoming Panto at the theatre. Of course I am highly delighted at this and can’t wait to get going on it.
Just so long as we avoid singing Slade songs I think I’ll be fine.