Bah Humbug – Part 7

Blah blah, moan about Christmas, blah blah another gem blah blah blah swallowed up into cyberspace blah blah should get published blah blah fish cakes blah.

Day 7 – Symbolism

If you are reading this on Blogspot you might miss the following interactive bit. If you are on LJ you can pretend to have read the whole thing and just fill in the poll.

But just for you Blogspot person. Here is a poetic intermission

I have got a box of chocolates

I’ve eaten all the nuts

I’ve eaten all the caramels

And all I hear is tuts

The reason why is clear to see

The soft centered ones

Disagree with me

And so I munch on the chewy

And hide the little menu.

Christmas eh….Are you fed up with it yet? I am. What really annoys me is the modern trend for the iconisation of fat men in red, candles, snowmen and puddings.

Because this issue is a big one, let me just go through each symbol and why it offends me.

Big Fat Men in Red –  Any other time of year, if someone put up posters of a  big fat man in red pyjamas the social services would probably be very concerned. Unless of course the person in question had some weird fat guy in pyjama’s fetish, in which case you’d probably let them off just so you could mock them.  Why big jovial fat men? Why not skinny women with their tits out? I mean that’s just as festive…Isn’t it? Well, maybe that’s just town centre Barnsley on a Thursday night.

It’s easy really. If it was Jesus who, in legend, went round the houses popping sweeties and gifts into socks on his birthday then I imagine we’d have given up the idolatry of the fat guy before he even got his arms into the sleeves of his red coat. But our love for freebies and material goods mean that the bearded skinny guy with the holes in his extremities doesn’t get a look in. Really, what we should do is do away with the fat bearded guy and have pictures of our parents up about the place. Of course if your parents were evil, dead or anti-Christmas then you probably won’t, so instead maybe you could opt for pictures of another parental surrogate. The Kween and Prince Fillup maybe?

Regardless, the fat guy is bad, unhealthy and out dated symbolism, which, really, deserves it’s own post. Maybe on Day 8.

Round puddings with holly stuck in the top

Do you know? In my life, I’ve never ever ever ever seen a round Christmas pudding. I’ve seen a pudding basin shaped one. I’ve seen one in the shape of a Christmas tree. But never a round one.

Now I’m sure people like FJ Warren will say “Oh when I was living in a shoe box while eating gravel and trying to keep warm round granddad’s phlegm during the poor times we used to have round Christmas puddings!”. Yes, I’m quite sure you did. But in this day and age of plastics, tin foil and basins, puddings tend to be basin shaped.

Besides, what about those people, like me, who find Christmas pudding abhorrent? Are we allowed to put up festive picture of ice cream everywhere? No we’re fucking not. Instead we have to put up with imagery of foul tasting brandy drenched mush. Well I don’t like it and I won’t have it. And if you think I’m staying sat at this table while everyone else finishes theirs, well you can think again, cos I’m going to my room to sulk.

Snow scenes, Snowmen and snow flakes – Do you know? I cannot remember the last time I saw a real snowman or for that matter a real snow flake of a Christmas. Now  I know people like Zelest and Kingdavey will probably be shoulder deep in wintery goodness now. But here in the UK, I think I’ve only ever seen about 2 white Christmases in my 35 years. I could be wrong. So instead, lets do away with snowmen all together and the snowflake, well that can fuck off too, let’s have rain drops instead, because it’s always sodding raining in the UK.

Stars and Candles – What the fig are they about? Yeah I know the three nomadic oriental types followed a star, but they were obviously sniffing too much myrrh or frankincense. Besides, I see stars all year round. Likewise candles. I used to see candles at Christmas too, but they were mostly on my birthday cake or on the table because there was a power cut. Now I see them all year round. I fail to see the symbolism still relevant.

 

Presents – Yeah ok. I suppose the wrapping up of unwanted gifts still hold some symbolism. Besides, big corporations would prefer the subversive subliminal symbolism of consumeristic iconography. Now I’ve seen a few socks knocking about the place, I think they’re supposed to be stockings, you know the type you hang on the mantle, but actually, the shift is toward socks because, as everyone knows, you get socks at Christmas. It’s the law.

Fat farting Aunt that sits in the corner drinking port  

No…I haven’t seen them either.

Bah Humbug – Part 6

Well, if you’ve been reading since day 1 you know the drill…..of course you could save time and look at the one I did in 2005

DAY 6 – Gifts

I remember spending lots of time thinking about it. I had enjoyed reading it myself and thought that it would appeal to my brother’s sardonic wit. I’d browsed bookshops looking for another copy and gave up and got one off Amazon. He was going to love this, I thought.

WRONG!

He absolutely hated it. So much so, as the amusing knob sock he is, he wrapped it up for me the following year and gave it back. This, he told me, was what he was going to do each year.

Of course such an example is extreme. But up and down the country and throughout the globe many suffer silently as, yet again, someone thoughtfully but thoughtlessly gives an unwanted gift. Be it aftershave, perfume or cosmetics for someone with allergies, to socks or gloves for an amputee. The reason for this? Well it’s simple. Nobody actually likes shopping for presents for other people. Especially when no thought goes into the purchase at all.

For example, let me try to imagine how your average Christmas gift buying session goes.

You – Hmmm I must buy **insert relative here** something….what is there? Hmmm Tinned prunes? No…How about a nice spatula? No…did that last year…..Gift voucher? Too practical……Oh bugger, that shop is full…look at the queue there! Blimey! She’s a bit fat….Oh shit it’s him from that place….hide….It’s ok they’ve fucked off elsewhere…Now what was I going to get? ….oh bugger…I can’t find anything…oh what's this? Ah I know…Socks! :D

Close? Thought so. You can spend hours trawling shops looking for that one thing you think they might like, or worse, what they have asked for. And still you will end up getting something without too much thought. Let’s rewind a bit…..tib a dniwer s’teL. thguoht hcum oot tuohtiw gnihtemos gnitteg pu dne lliw uoy llits dnA. rof deksa evah yeht tahw, **play** What they have asked for.

WHAT THEY HAVE ASKED FOR

Surely this defeats the object of a gift. If I asked for…I dunno…a Maclaren F1. Would I get it? No. I wouldn’t.

A result of not asking and getting; Seventies style

My Granddad used to say to me, “Ask don’t get, Don’t ask don’t want". It was like some weird mantra he used to say. Clearly he was a stonebonker but in those paradoxical words are the root of all solutions to the worlds problems. ASK don’t get – exactly. If you ask, you don’t get. Or you shouldn’t. In this consumerist world we ask and we get. Most of the time. Want a house? Ask an estate agent. Want help paying your bills, ask a customer service person and they’ll usually do what they can (though this is often not as much as you want them to do). Regardless, to me at least, asking beats the point. Gifts should be things you don’t expect, or things which can be cherished.

So like buying a box of cheese or beers or aftershave is not really conducive to gift giving. I can buy beers, cheese and aftershave whenever I feel like (providing the shop is open). Furthermore, I have more socks than I have grains of talcum powder. So probably the last thing I need is socks and aftershave in a special specific cheesy beer gift set. I should be able to look at a gift and say “Oh so-and-so bought me that back in 1990 and I still get a good use out of it”. Of course that is not an excuse to buy tat. Sure my ceramic Tardis cookie jar is a good ornament, but really, it’s clutter. As is the Cyberman helmet. In fact, clothes are equally a bad idea. Yes theoretically they will last a fair while depending on their quality, and yes I am grateful for my Cat boots my olds bought me 3 Christmases ago. But when those boots are worn through and full of holes, what then? Do I cling onto them because they were a gift? You see, when I buy a gift, I’d rather the person I buy the gift for keep hold of the gift forever. Look at it and think of me. Smile and think “Aww Stegzy bought me that.”

Chuffin’ Denim? Again?

This revelation, again like one St Paul might have had, struck me when for the umpteenth year my olds asked me what I wanted for Christmas. The fact that, at that time, I could, theoretically, afford most of the things I wanted (excepting a Maclaren F1) whenever I wanted kind of made me stuck for an answer. What do you say when you have everything?

So I told them. I said how I felt about the word WANT. I said how the whole concept of Christmas made me feel isolated and wasteful, I also said that, if they truly wanted to, they could get me something but, it had to be something with a message. Something which I can cherish and look at and say “My mum and dad bought me that” something that a lot of thought had gone into.

I got a Terramundi Piggy Bank that year.

I still have it. I still use it. It’s great. Every time I look at it I think “Aww my mum and dad bought me that” and I feel all cosy and warm and loved.  Then I look around my room as I type this and I look at the various other things, mostly gifts, I have accumulated over the years. With the exception of Malcolm Bird’s Witches Handbook (my favourite Aunt bought me it when I was 10) , the Tardis cookie jar (my eldest brother got me for Christmas following my ultimatum that gifts should require thought not want) and the T Shirt bought for me by that special specific person in my life the rest of them, I have no recollection if they are gifts and who bought them for me.

I’m not ungrateful. Far from it. I am heart renderingly grateful for all the gifts and things I have had over the years. But my point is, only a very small minority of them remind me of the person who gave the gift. An even smaller minority still exist in one form or another, and the vast majority are only still in existence because you cannot eat, wear or spray onto the skin.

Unfortunately, Christmas has become an oversized mega orgy of consumerism. We must go forth and purchase anything. Wrap it in paper. Give it to someone who then unwraps it, pretends to like it, then takes it back to the shop for a refund. Or, it gets looked at for an hour, then left to collect dust on a shelf until the house clearance people come to take away the cadaver’s belongings.

So, this year, if it is not too late. Maybe to recapture that little bit of Christmas spirit and enjoy the magic of actually giving an accepted gift. Put some thought into what you are buying. Think about the person. Think what would they like that would remind them of you forever and ever (or until the Alzheimer's sets in). Then get them gift vouchers.

Bah Humbug – Day 5

Rather than actually do some work…yaddayaddayadda. Background noone is arsed about yadda yadda yadda …..blah blah. Christmas blah.

Day 5 – Christmas Music

It is fortunate to live in Gnomepants manor at this time of year. Especially as the house looks dark and spooky without the lights on outside. Moreover, there is no doorbell on the front door and you have to sneak down a passage to get to the tradesman's entrance.

Why is this fortuitous?

Bah Humbug – Part 4

Despite having shit loads of Uni work, I thought I would try and do a series of posts each day about the bahhumbuggness of Christmas to go with my new seasonal background.

Day 4 – Cards

Every year I feel sorry for the postman. Down the lane with no name he comes bumbling. His sack laden with cards. I feel I have to hold my hands up here. I was once a victim of the Christmas card bug, as many long term LJ Flisters will remember. Sending cards was as much a part of getting into the Christmas spirit as drinking mulled wine and munching mince pies.

Every year I would compile a list. I'd check it twice. To find out who was naughty (by not sending me a card the previous year) and who was nice (those that did). I would go into town and spend loads on postage. Then, the year before last it struck me. Who the hell really gives a stuff about me sending cards? It was like I was sending them out of habit. Most of the people on my card list I had no interaction with and frankly I couldn't give a stuff whether they had a good Christmas or not.

 

My mum was the same and still is. Every year, about this time, she will spend evening after evening scribbling addresses and filling in cards from a bumper bargain box to send out to people she really had no connection with. Each year I would stand admiring the walls that became increasingly covered with cards.

Stegzy - Who's Mary McGuire?

Mum - Oh I used to nurse her father (my mum retired from Nursing about 7 years ago)
Stegzy - And who's Bill and Jill Smith?
Mum - Oh I once sat next to them on the tram back from the Pier Head back in 1953
Stegzy - And what about Sandra and the cats?
Mum - I think she used to be a friend of someone I once sold a raffle ticket to, but I can't be sure.

It became clear to me that my mum didn't actually have a clue who half of these people were. But, true to form she would send cards to them every year. I would often try to imagine what it would be like in their house holds

Bill Smith - Eh up, we got another card of that Betty Gnomepants.
Jill Smith - Oh bugger, I thought she'd not bother this year, pass us that box of cheap cards from Oxfam and I'll write her one up now.
Bill Smith - Who is she again?
Jill Smith - Fucked if I know

So again, like St Paul, I was struck with an astounding revelation. Who gives a stuff if I send them a card? Actually, come to think of it, why do I need to send family a card either? It's not like anyone would wish someone a miserable arse sucking Christmas is it? So by default, you can assume I wish people a happy and peaceful festive celebration without debt, arguments and cholesterol. Though there are a few people that I would and I imagine they think the same about me. Indeed, there really is no need for me to pay money for bits of gaily coloured card to wish family a happy Christmas when I see them over that period usually anyway. It's like wishing it again. Which, in my book, is over egging the nog. And so, again, this year, the sending of Christmas cards is not happening for me. Already, people are showing their distaste at me not sending cards by not sending me any. Mrs Gnomepants, the wife from whom I am separated, gets cards on an increasingly daily basis addressed to her, and yet I get nothing addressed to me but bills and threats of stick waving.

Now don't get me wrong, I get no displeasure from not sending cards. Quite the opposite. I get the warm glow that I am not contributing to my carbon weighting buy using card that is made from recycled paper. I feel safe in the knowledge that the Posties hernia was not caused by my fan mail. Indeed, I am comfortable with the awareness that I wish no ill to people all year round and no ill especially during their festive period. I am however conscious that some people will think of me as a miserable old cunt that is too cheap to send out cards. But far from it. It is not me, but those that gauge their narcissistic popularity by how many cards they receive. Moreover, these same people probably are concerned with how many Facebook friends they have. Well bless their black narcissistic cotton socks.

And so a short cut. For those that think by my not sending cards I am some how snubbing their special specific day....have a mooch round. See if you can find one of the cards I sent on previous years (What do you mean you've recycled them already?! Do you know how much hard work went into making them cards??) and prop it up on your mantelpiece, desk or wherever and pretend I've sent you it again. Of course, there are those who may have already disposed of the card I sent all those years back and there are those who I have never sent a card to. So to get round this, let's come to a compromise. I'll dig out an unused card. I'll write "Happy Christmas With Love from **insert your name here**" and prop it up on my mantlepiece and I'll pretend it was sent by you to me. If....now here's the biggy....YOU WILL DO THE SAME FOR ME. Then, come January when I'm chucking stuff out, I'll box that card up, and I'll fish it out again next year. Unless, of course, you state that you wish me an unpleasant Christmas with worms and maggots and debt and shit some how, in which case I will keep it boxed away until you change your mind. Yes? Is that not simpler? I mean if you really want that authentic card experience....stick it into an envelope, write your name and address on the envelope and stick it in the mail. That way you're spending the same money on postage as I would have done and then that's fair isn't it? You don't have to feel done out of 40p. I'm happy, you're happy. Then, get your friends to do the same. Of then course, if you really don't like a person, why not just send them a card with "I hate you, I hope your Christmas if full of fights and parsnips" and they'll feel badly done to because they went to the effort in pretending to get a card from you Then it will be a greener and much pleasanter Christmas for all....except that person you don't like.

 

But still feel free to send Birthday cards….you know…to massage my own narcissisms.

Bah Humbug – Part 3

Despite having shit loads of Uni work, I thought I would try and do a series of posts each day about the bahhumbuggness of christmas to go with my new seasonal background.

Day 3 – Food shopping

OK. Let’s think about something. Forget what time of year it is and think about some imaginary family function in the summer. If you don’t have a family, just imagine one. If you don’t have imagination, pretend that you have.

Let’s say this function is at the end of August. You have been tasked with making a trifle. Or maybe a cheese board or something. Would you go into a supermarket or shop and buy the cream or cheese in July?

NO YOU WOULD NOT!

So why is it, that supermarkets, shops and the like already have turkeys, seasonal creams, seasonal sausage rolls and party foods and seasonal cheese boards on their shelves? OK yes I quite understand that people want to shop early to beat the rush. Yes I totally comprehend that most of these goods are available all year round in some form or other. But why promote the SEASONAL ones nearly a month before?

So there I was. In Testicles. Yes, I know. I don’t shop in Testicles unless I have to and this was one of those occasions. There. On special offer. Brandy butter. BRANDY FUCKING BUTTER. with a shelf life date of December 5th.

Now I like extravagance as much as the next person. Yes butter is nice on toast. Brandy butter on toast though? I probably would give that a miss though I would say that if you were a pisshead of some sort you’d probably enjoy a slab of brandy butter on your toast with your gin on your cornflakes. Each to their own.

But no. I am being fanciful. Surely in reality the only use for Brandy butter and Brandy infused cream and the like is for christmassy fayre? No? So as Christmas is not until the January end of December…..WHY THE FUCK were they in the shops?

At this time of year I like to espy the fat bastard with the bald head wheezing asthmatically round the old supermarket while pushing a trolley burgeoning with all manner of festive fayre. The one with the trolley full of mince pies, cakes, stollen, turkey, prawns, melons, crackers, cheese, mini sausage rolls, them little mini scotch eggs, tins of Quality Street and the like and I wonder whether all of this is going to go into some giant chest freezer or whether he’s going to eat the lot during the week.

Of course there are those that do things in extreme ways. There always will be. And no, this time I’m not talking about fatty. I’m talking about those that descend on their local stores the night before Christmas AND BUY UP EVERY FUCKING THING. They then stand moaning as all the other mad people that have done the same are wrestling with the self-service checkouts and holding up the queue that is snaking through the aisles. Why? Why leave everything to the last minute? Sure things taste better when they are fresh, but these supermarket things are designed to have a long shelf life anyway. The shop is only shut for one day! Not for ever!

It’s like people become possessed with the consumerist spirit and are forced, without will, to shop. Now, see I wouldn’t mind, but in my eyes all I can see is waste. I don’t know about you but even on my most hungry days, I can only manage one large meal. Yes, I am aware that there are some who have exceedingly large families and they have to cater for them too but I am astounded by the amount of stuff people buy. Just for one special specific day of the year. The truth will out though, as if you watch these people fill their bins on the day after Boxing Day you will see them dumping loads of this food into the bin uneaten.

The west gorges itself at this time of year. It is like some obscene binge where everyone eats far too much high fat high salt high sugar food all in the name of celebration. It is an orgy of consumerism. While some of the planet starve because of drought, war and famine, we in the west stick two fingers up and nom our way through enough pies, cakes, turkey and prawns to feed an army for a year. Oh yeah, sure, I know you’re thinking “Well it’s not that bad, its only me you and a few others”. Its not. Realistically there are far too many people eating far too much. Just on one day. And for what? To celebrate the birth of the Christ child? Not any more. It is because IT IS DEMANDED OF YOU SOCIALLY. Society demands that you do this because if you don’t you are a miserable scrooge. Well I’ve got news for you….Society is the miserable cunt. I reject the enforced gorging, I reject the enforced consumerism and I reject it with a single finger extended.

 

 

It is clearly wrong that while others starve and try to find shelter, we in the west sit in our homes surrounded by consumer goods and tacky tinsel stuffing ourselves with amounts of food that would kill. Foods produced in mass quantities producing CO2, litter, methane and waste. All in aid of praising the great Gods of consumerism and their minion Corporate Santa. So while that strange Aunt that nobody likes quietly sips her sherry in the corner while expelling putrid sprout farts from her wrinkled anus, think about the damage she’s doing. Think about those starving children. Think. If it was your country where children were starving, and people in far off lands were having a good old knees up, you’d be like “Oi! No! Look at little Johnny! He’s starving hungry!”.

No? You wouldn’t? No I didn’t think you would. You’d be far too busy thinking about that Aunt and the fact she’s bought you socks that are too small for the 10th year running. Or what time Doctor Who is on.

Bah Humbug - 2

Despite having shit loads of Uni work, I thought I would try and do a series of posts each day about the bahhumbuggness of christmas to go with my new seasonal background.

Day 2 – Decorations

When I was a wee badger pup, I used to delight at being driven through the suburbs to wherever it was we were going. Moreso when it was Christmastide. I would gaze out of the window with wide eyes eager to espy illuminated windows bedecked with Christmas decorations.

Back in the 1970’s and 80’s it was like some advent calendar. You knew Christmas was coming because more and more houses would look festive each night. From the very rare one toward the beginning of the month, to the sudden explosion about a week before the special specific day.

Since then, like a rash, it seems that some are excited about the big day in November and the once eager countdown has turned from a “count the tree!” into a “Spot the Christmas victim” sport.

But I touched on illuminations yesterday, so today I am going indoors.

My Nan had the best Christmas decorations ever. I have some of the ones that haven’t disintegrated still.  My favorite is a cardboard cut out of Santa on his sleigh over arced by the words “HAPPY CHRISTMAS”, it has a sister, that of a cardboard cut out of Santa in his airplane over arced by the words “MERRY CHRISTMAS”. Simple. effective. Still with stubborn remains of glitter clinging on. There is also a small bag of garlands. Not any ordinary garland mind. None of this tinsel stuff. These are brightly coloured PAPER GARLANDS!

Ah the simple things.

These days however, houses seem to spend a lot on decorations. Either that or the festive decoration business is very lucrative. Everything seems to appear to have some kind of organic feel to it. Even the fake stuff. Garlands of green swathing stairways, posh looking real trees and even plastic pseudo trees that would convince even Percy Thrower from a distance.

Why?

What’s wrong with the tatty tinsel? The crap baubles with their lacquer coming off? Or the cheap looking flue brush Christmas tree in the corner? Why bother with all the expense of new decorations? My Nan's had clearly lasted since before the war with a small top up some time in the 60’s. Nothing extravagant. Just basic. And yet still looking like you’re doing your part.

But no. Because designers need to earn a crust, new concepts in the latest decoration styles come forth. It’s like redesigning spoons and encouraging people to buy different spoons depending on the flavour yogurt they’re eating. Decorations don’t go tacky. They might get damaged yes, but they don’t go tacky. It is YOUR PERCEPTION that makes them tacky, spurred on by the fashion industries in an effort to generate more income for themselves. Now I can’t blame them for that. After all if we’re all gullible enough to follow new trends then good on whosoever makes a crust out of that narcissism. But a tree is a tree. Convincing or not. A string of green tinsel is a string of green tinsel. Flame retardant or not. A bauble a bauble – child friendly or not.

So this year, if you are tempted to buy new decorations. Save money. Use the ones you already have. Don’t throw the old ones away. Keep them. Use them every year ad nauseam. Until you are in your 70’s and you can pass them on to a governmentally approved young person (providing you’ve been checked out of course).

Of course, you could go down the other route. The “Don’t bother” route.

Before I digressed I was writing about the Christmas tree spotting occasions I used to take part in. Of course, living in an ethnically diverse place such as Liverpool, there were quite a few houses that didn’t bedeck in gaiety. This confused me because I wanted to know why Mr & Mrs Singh^* didn’t have decorations ups and I also wanted to know why Mr & Mrs Goldstienburg^* didn’t seem to bother either. Of course I wasn’t allowed to ask them as this was the 1970’s/80’s and even looking at people who had different creeds and beliefs was unthinkable. After all you might catch something.

Aside from the Singhs and the Goldstienburgs there was the mysterious Joneses^*. They seemed like an ordinary couple. Dog, house, cars, both were teachers but they seemed to lack decorations at Christmas. I thought the reason why they didn’t dress their house up was because they didn’t have children. So as they didn’t have children Father Christmas had no right being there so why would they try to tempt him in with decorations? Logical thinking no?

As my years went on and I moved away, I became aware that other people didn’t bother with decorations. It became apparent that some would dread the annual scuffle to find a box of musty smelling balls of tinsel; bedeck; sit surrounded by it all; take it down 3 weeks later.

And why not! Who wouldn’t. So think about it. You’re going to mooch about in a dusty attic, damp cellar, rank shed, cluttered cupboard. Take all the boxes of decorations out. Spend the entire day sticking up bits of cheap crap around your accommodation in an attempt to make yourself feel festive for a couple of weeks. You’ll find that some lights wont work, you’ll find bits of tinsel have some how become entwined with each other. You’ll find bits of stuff you had forgotten about from the previous year. You might even find that smelly Aunt last seen in the corner sipping sherry the previous Christmas.

Then 3 weeks later, you’ll have to take it all down again. Stuff it back into boxes, return your Aunt to the nursing home and some how muster up the arsedness to stuff it all back in the place you got it from. I mean really….CAN YOU BE ARSED?

Do what I do. Don’t bother.

Bah humbug

Despite having shit loads of Uni work, I thought I would try and do a series of posts each day about the bahhumbuggness of christmas to go with my new seasonal background.

Day 1 - Christmas Lights

Last month, the council cherry picker came round and put up the usual festive illuminations around the main street through Brierley. This signalled the impending annual tradition of the Barnsley Christmas Lights Switch On. A tradition that dates back to the early days when locals would gather, set fire to a virgin and honour the ancient God of Coal. These days it is a more sedate affair. Local celebrities (of which there are two maybe three) arrive, say some inspiring words ("It's Christmas" "You're all going to die" "What the fuck am I doing in Barnsley?") and flick a switch. A nice job if you can get it. Bit seasonal though.

This year's switch on was about 2 weeks ago.

Now I had expected the gay baubles to be illuminated outside the Church of the Blue Bag already. But no. Possibly because Councillor/Mayor Vodden hasn't got round to plugging in the extension cord or maybe because, as tradition holds with fairy lights, a bulb has blown somewhere down the street and the council are too busy to come and test each bulb. So there it hangs. On the street light. Dull. Dim and extra.

Of course this would probably be a problem if, over the next 3 weeks, the plethora of social housing and swaythes of other residences didn't bedeck their houses with gaudy strings of coloured electric lighting. Already, the streets of Brierley are starting to resemble a poor man's Blackpool and yet this is only the beginning. Residents clinging on to some vague recollection of happy Christmases past. Re-enacting, modernising and reattempting to capture that one heady happy jolly merry christmas where gran would sit in the corner farting and the deformed elderly Aunt that nobody cared for slowly got pissed on rum in front of a flue brush christmas tree dressed in Woolworth's best bargain death trap fairy lights.

And yet, though the whole idea is frightful to some, there is something carnal and comforting about the bright glow of coloured lights against the dark December evenings. We banish the darkness with light, harking back to those long ago days when electricity was witchcraft and we would be huddled in the corner of a roundhouse with the cows and sheeps for warmth while praying that the sun would come up the next morning. So as you drive or walk down your local streets during these cold cold December nights and you observe the brightly coloured lights of festive celebrations, think. Think how those who cover their homes with more lights than a Las Vegas casino are actually trying, in some sort of primal tribal memory way, to banish the darkness. Laugh to yourself. Think how foolish they are for being afraid of the dark. Then. Walk into a lamppost.

Look where you are going.