Irish weather, I swear to God, will be the death of me. It doesn't snow for around 40 years and when it finally comes it can't stop itself. Like a row of dominoes, a drunk man somewhere in a village in Lancaster or the British economy, once it starts it just falls. And falls. And falls...
And yet, for me at least it still doesn't feel anything like Christmas. Perhaps my body clock has developed a concussion after one too many nights out, but if you told me it was some time in the middle of September I would fully believe you. Despite the fact that the TV has been screaming at me since July about Christmas this and Christmas that, it just doesn't feel Christmassy at all.
Perhaps, it's in this that the crux of the matter lies; it's not the Grinch that's stolen Christmas, it's Capitalism. Much in the same way it stamped all over a little place called the USSR and turned the humble banker into the Devil Incarnate it's also responsible for the final nail in the festive coffin.
Don't get me wrong however, I'm no weirdy-beardy Marxist. I love me some capitalism, it's just that I also love Christmas. Or did anyway... In a way it's quite poetic in that snow can be tied so well into this; snow looks lovely in postcards and Al Gore videos but as soon as it arrives you become sick of it.
It's exactly the same with Christmas in that as soon as the adverts and Christmas tree shops open (circa mid-summer) you can't help but think "Awwwwwh. Christmas. How lovely!". It isn't soon however before that sentimental cooing becomes screams of hatred and fury at the constant bombardment of Yuletide propaganda.
It is therefore that I can say quite confidently that there is no longer such a thing as festive spirit or Christmas cheer. I'm not being cynical, I'm simply stating the apparent fact that human beings seemingly can't leave anything alone without destroying it. We killed the Dodo, we killed the environment and as if that wasn't enough now we've knocked off old Chris Cringle as well.
It's scary that at such a young and tender age I already appreciate how bone-crackingly annoying Christmas really is. It isn't that long ago however that I remember Christmas being fun. And I'm not talking 40 years ago when it was exciting to find a shiny new shilling in your stocking and the most controversial material on the TV was The Brady Bunch. Only 10 years ago I have memories filled with Santa Claus and Reindeer and mince pies (and of course presents!). Oh yeah, and that guy Jesus. Whoever he is.
And so therefore if you're reading this Mr Capitalist I would implore you to leave Christmas alone. Just this once? Feel free to suck people out of pocket and home any other day of the year but is it really worth spoiling the one time of year that all of Christendom is supposed to be united as one, just to keep yourself in caviar and 24 carat gilded toilet roll?
Monday 21 December 2009
Wednesday 9 December 2009
Life On Mars - Northern Ireland Style
My name is Ryan. I was on my way to school last week when I had an accident.
I woke up in Ballymena … in 1973.
Am I in a coma, was my drink spiked or am I a time traveller?
Cue Bowie …
In 1973 I was not but a grotty flicker in my father's eye. The world was a different place for the teenager,computers were vast walls of flickering lights which Mr. Spock poked at on Star Trek, mobile phones were non-existant and as for a TV it was a case of 'warming up' the black and white with a crank shaft and a well-placed clout.
And that's if the power was on, cos those were the days when candle sales were at a premium and every self-respecting family kept a primus stove handy in readiness for the next political strike in strife torn Ulster.
However, there was an upside to the technological wasteland in which 1970's Ulster lived. Most kids were fit to run the marathon by the age of 10, they could amuse themselves for more than five minutes in an open field with only a ball, a piece of string and an acorn.
The nearest thing to FIFA 2010 was a cruddy football game which consisted of pushing some misshapen plastic figure's head, enabling him to (allegedly) kick the ball. Literature consisted of totally un-PC periodicals where foreign nationals had their butts kicked by tough talking Brits such as Captain Hurricane, or were plastered with bombs by 'Braddock of Bomber Command'.
"I say," said Braddock, dropping another four tons of high explosive on some nasty Nazis, "that'll teach the Gerries to bomb London!"
"Aaaargh," squealed the Gerries/Japs etc etc. "Englander Pig Dog, Achtung, Donner und Blitzen, Himmel!". Or words to that effect.
Penny chews were actually a penny,pizza was something foreign and therefore 'orrible and fast food was still dominated by the good old fish supper on a Friday night while burgers were just making an appearance and considered the height of sophistication and young love could be found everywhere from the chippy to the schoolground.
Imagine that nowadays - nobody in their right mind would go on a first date to McDonalds (unless perhaps their name happens to be Gary Glitter). This perhaps reflects the fact that nowadays the world is a very different place, and definatley not an altogether better one - a world dominated by celebrity, technology, goverened by a new breed of imbecile with their non-stop rules and regulations.
In the words of DCI Gene Hunt, "It doesn't take a degree in Applied Bollocks to know what's going on". Perhaps though, in this day and age, it does.
I woke up in Ballymena … in 1973.
Am I in a coma, was my drink spiked or am I a time traveller?
Cue Bowie …
In 1973 I was not but a grotty flicker in my father's eye. The world was a different place for the teenager,computers were vast walls of flickering lights which Mr. Spock poked at on Star Trek, mobile phones were non-existant and as for a TV it was a case of 'warming up' the black and white with a crank shaft and a well-placed clout.
And that's if the power was on, cos those were the days when candle sales were at a premium and every self-respecting family kept a primus stove handy in readiness for the next political strike in strife torn Ulster.
However, there was an upside to the technological wasteland in which 1970's Ulster lived. Most kids were fit to run the marathon by the age of 10, they could amuse themselves for more than five minutes in an open field with only a ball, a piece of string and an acorn.
The nearest thing to FIFA 2010 was a cruddy football game which consisted of pushing some misshapen plastic figure's head, enabling him to (allegedly) kick the ball. Literature consisted of totally un-PC periodicals where foreign nationals had their butts kicked by tough talking Brits such as Captain Hurricane, or were plastered with bombs by 'Braddock of Bomber Command'.
"I say," said Braddock, dropping another four tons of high explosive on some nasty Nazis, "that'll teach the Gerries to bomb London!"
"Aaaargh," squealed the Gerries/Japs etc etc. "Englander Pig Dog, Achtung, Donner und Blitzen, Himmel!". Or words to that effect.
Penny chews were actually a penny,pizza was something foreign and therefore 'orrible and fast food was still dominated by the good old fish supper on a Friday night while burgers were just making an appearance and considered the height of sophistication and young love could be found everywhere from the chippy to the schoolground.
Imagine that nowadays - nobody in their right mind would go on a first date to McDonalds (unless perhaps their name happens to be Gary Glitter). This perhaps reflects the fact that nowadays the world is a very different place, and definatley not an altogether better one - a world dominated by celebrity, technology, goverened by a new breed of imbecile with their non-stop rules and regulations.
In the words of DCI Gene Hunt, "It doesn't take a degree in Applied Bollocks to know what's going on". Perhaps though, in this day and age, it does.
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