A critique of Christmas.

I have felt entirely let down these holiday by two great stalwarts of Christmas traditions - Christmas telly and the New Year sales.

Let's be honest with ourselves, they were both completely crap. I enjoyed the Top Gear Christmas Special and I got myself a new pair of shoes for £20 but that was it really - there was naff all else to be had. What happened? Have we lost our self-respect as a nation? Has the looming threat of recession and privation at long last encouraged us all to aspire to something of the true meaning of Christmas by eschewing repeats and spurning the heady excesses of capitalism's tempting wiles? I can't say, all I know is that they were completely crap.

But even one day back into the working life I'm wistful for the sleepy days of yore, back in the deepest recesses of 2008 when I used to lie in of a morning and spend the day reading, or watching the West Wing on DVD. Indeed, the happiest two weeks of my life.

I got back to work today and couldn't remember which floor the office was on, I forgot my password on the computer and couldn't remember my phone number when booking a room for a meeting. This is why you shouldn't take time off work, this is why I don't relax between shifts - you get lured into a false sense of security and unlearn all of the daily chores and rituals you've bred into yourself over a prolonged period.

I've been wondering if 2009 will feel a lot shorter - a whole day and a second shorter than 2008, it shall surely whizz by.

In other news it took me over five sodding hours to get back from Coventry to London yesterday - not so much leaves on the line as lines on the line. I was ready to kill someone by the time I got home at half nine after a journey that was only supposed to take ninety minutes. The sordid experience has only strengthened my belief that legislation should be introduced to prevent Richard Branson from engaging in any sort of business activity that is going to cause distress or otherwise impact on any other living person's life. The only thing I can suggest as an alternative would be Virgin Prisons - the experience would be so excruciating that no-one would commit a crime ever again. The only downside being that people's sentences would over-run by several years and entire buildings would constantly be closed for improvements.

An open letter to 2009.

Dear 2009,

Happy 1st January, me old mucker - your time has arrived at long last. It's a bit pressured coming at the end of a decade as people get a touch of deadline fever and try and squeeze everything in. 1969 we were on the moon, 1979 we were electing Frau Thatcher, 1989 we were ridding the world of Communism (it's still around a little bit, but mostly for the crack) and in 1999 we got a bit carried away and tried to stop the world from ending. Practical joke by some old bloke called Nostradamus.

2008 was a mildly inconsequential year - in some ways we needn't have bothered, we could have skipped from 2007 straight to you, but after several thousand of you the order seems to be quite important. We could have missed out economic misery and an entire 'nother year of Labour in power, Cherie Blair's book and that sodding Abba film. It even got to the desperate stage of giving everyone cash because our taxes were messed up, lower VAT rates to distract us from the fiscal cock-up and goodness only knows what they expected us to do with an extra second - economic stimulus gone mad, I tell you, especially when the extra second was at night. But no - as it was, the traditionalists had their way.

Please be kind to us - myself, this is my 25th year on the planet and as I approach my Silver Anniversary I feel the weight of history on my shoulders. As in the pressure to make some, even if I only end up with a colourful personal one. I'm not one for resolutions, really, but I might think of some for you - 2009 is an important year for me, it would be nice to have some goals to work towards.

At any rate - welcome, 2009 - may you shine favourably upon us and not be a twat.

All the best,

Sam

A thought made flesh.

The internet is a vast black hole into which time and productivity vanish without a trace: discuss.

It's one thing to waste your life wishin' and hopin', that's quite wistful and glamorous, I can get behind that. What do I do at the end of my life when I've wasted it readin' and bloggin'? The internet is bizarre, it's like the entire sum of human knowledge has just been dumped right in front of us, complete with damaged psyche and ravaged conscience.

What sort of effect has that had on our culture, on ourselves - what sort of effect does growing up like this have on today's children? I remember books, I remember having to look something you didn't know up in an encyclopaedia. To modern children an encyclopaedia is a pervert on a bike, I remember being agog when dad brought home Encarta, I sat and listened to all the national anthems of the world's countries I could find.

I love knowing things, to me that is existence - knowing more and more interesting things, finding things out. But to end there, it's a waste - where we become human is in the sharing. The internet doesn't quite do that for me, we've created it so impersonal in the past seven or eight years. I've got this friend, Ashley - I've never met her before, but we've been emailing each other since we were kids, ten years now.

That's what the internet did for me back then, I emailed lots of people, created friendships. Most of them didn't last, but Ashley and I are still in touch. I think that's great - these days it's a blog, an open letter to no-one in particular. It doesn't sit in your inbox waiting to be read and answered, it's not special to you, it just sits there - no complications, no obligations to you. It's a bizarre relationship - if I want it to continue then I must strive to be witty/dazzling/insightful or whatever the hell the reason is that people even come back here.

Just thinkin'.

An interview.

I saw this fun-looking meme over at Clair's blog and wanted to take part - it's the latest craze that is literally sweeping some blogs. She has sent me some questions (quite good ones, I was impressed) and now I have to answer them. Here goes nothing:

1. You are in a plane with Tony Blair and Gordon Brown. The engines have gone up in smoke, the pilot's dead, and the plane is going down. There are two parachutes. Assuming you keep one for yourself, who would you give the other one to, and why?

I quite like Tony Blair, I'm just not sure he married well. Gordon Brown is infinitely more dour and dislikeable, but then I wouldn't want to be someone's executioner. A more entertaining although possibly slightly crueler option would be to put the parachute between the two of them and they have to decide who gets it. Having said that, Gordon's still in power at the moment and the promise of a peerage would definitely swing the parachute in his favour.

2. Captain Jack Sparrow, or Captain Jack Harkness? Who would you rather take to bed?

I apologise, I had to google that second chap. I can see the attraction in both, but even assuming a certain poetic licence, I'm afraid neither does it for me. I was trying to think of anyone who might come close to a sexy captain, and the only person I could think of was Cate Blanchett in the last Indiana Jones movie...

3. Is there a definitive childhood memory that you have? Tell us about it.

I always think about this sort of thing at Christmas time - I'm really hazy on memories, I can remember useless information but not things that I've done. In terms of defining my future I remember have two big boxes of car brochures that I'd collected and a big box of toy cars, I used to get up early on a Saturday and take over the front room with either collection, spend the whole day absorbed in those. I've always had imagination and the capacity to lose myself in thought. In terms of defining my outlook on life then I have really strong memories of travelling to Romania with my family in the early nineties, being exposed to colourful, smelly, overwhelming, emotional places and people. I grew up with a strong awareness of the context of my life, it has always made concentrating on trivia quite difficult.

4. If you were going to build a house for yourself, where would you build it?

I love Grand Designs, I'm such a Kevin McCloud fan. The answer to this question would depend on the context of my life at the time - I'd love to have a house in the Black Forest in Germany, somewhere to escape to, but if I was going to build a house in the UK I'd want plenty of land on the edge of the New Forest with room for a small lake and plenty of trees. Also I'd be needing a rally stage and short tarmac circuit. Not much.

5. Do you have a secret ambition? Something which you know you're never actually going to achieve, but you're still holding on to in a corner of your brain?

Gosh, I have loads of secret ambitions, I am nothing if not inwardly ambitious - I'd love to record a big band album, I'd love to go on a plane first class across the Atlantic, I'd love to compete in a round of the World Rally Championship, I'd love to sit in the House of Lords, I'd love to write for Autocar magazine, I'd love to write travel books, I'd love to have a chat show that's more fun than Parky but more high-brow than Jonathan Ross...if I'll ever do any of those I just don't know, but I like being at the age where they're all a possibility. That's the sad thing about getting older, that your possibilities contract, there's a resignation there - I don't want to go through that though.

A large part of my pre-life crisis that I'm going through at the moment is having to make decisions that are going to affect all of the above, things that will have an impact on the whole rest of my life. Thing is, though, I've lucked into everything so far in my life and I can only assume that it will continue so. It makes planning pretty difficult, must say.

Well that was fun, if I'm not quite Observer Supplement interview material - if anyone's got any more questions you can leave them in the comments, they can be as anonymous as you like. If you want me to ask you some questions then read the below...

——————–
If you would like to be interviewed yourself then leave a comment here saying something like “interview me” and I’ll send you some questions.

Here’s the cut and paste bit:

Interview rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with a post containing your the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum

christmas tree
Originally uploaded by ALBOWIEB

Do they blog at Christmas time at all?

9.14am: Whilst every other schmuck in the country is opening presents this fine Christmas morning, I and my close relatives have to wait until tomorrow because my mum is at work today. On the one hand this sort of blows, on the other hand, there will only be 364 days until the next one.

I have decided to blog Christmas day live, from my considered and objective viewpoint outside of the day's proceedings.

11.17am: Literally sod all on the telly. We have been reduced to watching the Christmas Eucharist on BBC1, live from Peterborough Cathedral. I didn't know that Peterborough had a cathedral - just a passport office, actually, where I was robbed of £75 for a three hour number as I had to be in Croatia in 4 days. I content myself by tucking into a ridiculously oversized box of miniaturised chocolate bars (who thought of that genius idea?) and mocking choir boys.

11.49am: The Santa Clause 2 is on - I don't believe I enjoyed the first Santa Clause film enough to justify even acknowledging the existence of a second Santa Clause film, but I suppose that Tim Allen has bills to pay like the rest of us. Everyone knows that the only good Christmas films are Homes Alone 1 + 2. And perhaps that one with Richard Attenborough on alternate years.

13.56pm: Hey, this is going quicker than you might expect. I've been getting envious of everyone's presents on Twitter, had a shower and now we're watching Mr Bean the Outrageous Money-spinning Movie. Also, we must be the only family in the whole of the country eating sausage and mash for dinner today.

14.38pm: The sausage and mash was quite tasty, dad did cheesy beans and fried onions with it. He's now cracking open the christmas pudding and squirty cream...Mr Bean turns out to be surprisingly funny, which is not my memory of it at all. I think I must be getting far easier to please in my mid-twenties. Her Maj must be on in a bit. I don't think I've ever watched her before, this should be a treat.

15.39pm: Well, wasn't it simply lovely to see the Sovereign and her message of hope and succour sandwiched between a gurning maniacal fool and a bespectacled young wizard phenomenon.

16.36pm: Easy to forget what else is going on in the world - I imagine countless thousands of other households are just as affected by the terrible shenenigans at Cadbury's - those Bourneville darks are the new orange creams, who cares much for them at all? Also, Harold Pinter has died and people are aghast at President Ahmadinejad's alternative Christmas message on Channel 4. From what I can see it's pretty dull, personally Dame Edna Everage was my favourite alternative Christmas message...

18.33pm: I'm sat in the living room - I thought that instead of sitting in my room with my laptop watching the West Wing, I would bring it downstairs and be anti-social in the same room as everyone else. But dash it if I haven't ended up watching Doctor Who - I've watched precisely 3 episodes ever, I don't have a clue what is going on - no doubt fanboys across the country will be dribbling into their cereal on Boxing Day.

19.01pm: Excuse the profanity, but was that not the tiniest bit shit?

20.42pm: This is Christmas Jim, but not as we know it.

Many of the constituent elements have been there; I feel sick from the repulsive amounts of pringles I've eaten (they don't deserve a big P), I've watched an impressive amount of rubbish telly and sent several thousand text messages. On the other hand I had sausage and mash for dinner and didn't open any presents, so more like Christmas in the gastro-intestinal ward.

So what is Christmas these days? I'll tell you tomorrow if Boxing Day tomorrow feels more like Christmas tomorrow as Christmas day today should have felt like if it was today, except we're having it tomorrow.

Anyway - now I have to go and wrap some presents.

What's in a day?

I feel a bit sorry for the 23rd December - it lives forever in the shadow of its more successful brothers the 24th and 25th. Christmas Eve is a successful day in its own right, the 22nd is just an ordinary day - but the 23rd? Who cares? It's just meh.

I think it was Ron Dennis who first expounded on the fact that second place is first of the losers. It's been the motivating mantra of many a competitive person since time immemorial, but that's what the 23rd December is, the first of the losers.

What ever happened on the 23rd December? Looking at its page, not a lot. Although it is Carla Bruni's birthday, so joyeux anniversaire Madame Châtelaine - goodness only knows what first lady is in french. I shall ask my friend Melanie who is visiting tomorrow - she is a french teacher, she should know these things.

December 22nd on the other hand has always been business as usual - the first flight of the SR71 Blackbird in 1964, the 70mph speed limit on motorways was introduced in 1965, in 1989 the Brandenburger Tor is reopened and Ceaucescu's reign is ended in Romania. The only thing that ever happened on the 23rd December is that Europe's highest cable car was opened in 1979 at Klein Matterhorn.

So spare a thought for the 23rd - it never did anyone any harm...(save for the odd natural disaster, that is)

In which I nearly die.

I jump up with a start, a sort of multi-button combo move powered by a mix of being territorial and wanting a headstart should I need to leg it.

It is 1.30am and I have just heard a loud bang. These sorts of thing tend not to happen often at this time of night - like a pretty girl in the Midlands, what in daylight hours would be termed a mild whimper often takes on proportions outweighing objective scrutiny in the dead of night and merits ignoring. This, however is a loud bang.

I give it a few minutes to assess the situation. Should a senior ranking member of the family have been awoken and choose to investigate I can sink beneath the capacious duvet and pretend to be asleep. Also, there could be an extremely clumsy intruder on the loose.

Foolishly, I mount an investigative mission down freshly-carpeted stairs.

Foolish because despite watching the Bourne films so many times my eyes have repetitive strain I still lack the highly desirable ability to take a man out with a rolled-up copy of the tv guide. Neither do my parents have anything I particularly want to stand between a crack-addled loon to protect, except their new energy-saving kettle, with which I am still going through that smug gadget honeymoon where every time you use it you shake your head with sheer satisfaction in being ahead of the game. Even then should I be asked to choose between getting stabbed in the face and the minor inconvenience of my mum standing in the queue for the Curry's Boxing Day sale it's not going to take a great deal of deliberation.

I hear a crackling sound coming from the living room which could be one of two things: either the cheeky bastard has popped open a can of Pringles or the Christmas tree and its surprisingly tasteful decor-sensitive baubles have exploded all over the floor.

To cut a needlessly protracted story short, it turns out to be neither option - much to the chagrin of my inner nine-year-old. The glass in the patio door is comprehensively broken, I can't figure out why.

I return upstairs to get to sleep, but not before blogging about it. I make a mental note to get out more.

A meme.

How exciting! A meme that I found on my computer! Unfortunately I can't remember where on earth I got it from. The basic idea is that there are questions and you have to answer them in one word. Normally I try and cheat here by hyphenating-lots-of-words-to-tenuously-make-them-one-word, but for this one I had lots of spare time to think on the train and actually just use one word. Feel free to follow suit should you want to - coming soon, I answer Clair's questions...and they're good ones.

1. Where is your cell phone?
Bag
2. Where is your significant other?
Waiting
3. Your hair color?
Undecided
4. Your mother?
Scottish
5. Your father?
Thinking
6. Your favourite thing?
Being
7. Your dream last night?
Forgotten
8. Your dream/goal?
Lords
9. The room you’re in?
Carriage
11. Your fear?
Obscurity
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years?
Accomplishing
13. Where were you last night?
Skating
14. What you’re not?
Overachieving
15. One of your wish-list items?
Success
16. Where you grew up?
Coventry
17. The last thing you did?
Pack
18. What are you wearing?
Comfortables
19. Your TV?
Storage
20. Your pet?
Dead
21. Your computer?
Here
22. Your mood?
Untested
23. Missing someone?
Yes
24. Your car?
Scrapped
25. Something you’re not wearing?
Bra
26. Favourite store?
Expensive
27. Your summer?
Distant
28. Love someone?
Who?
29. Your favourite colour?
Yellow
30. When is the last time you laughed?
Recently
31. Last time you cried?
Weepy