I went on the bus into town yesterday as I had one or two things that I wanted to buy and for once I chose not to leave everything until the last possible moment.
Being a monday and being not too close to the actual event, the shops were not the usual feeding frenzy and all seemed pretty quiet and almost normal. Normal that is apart from the fact that all of the shops seem obliged to play endless streams of christmas muzak and many of the poor workers were dressed as elves. I did feel for them, sitting at their tills for hours on end, looking both bored and stupid. I don't think my tenuous grip of sanity would last a day in those conditions; give me ten minutes of Bing Crosby or Wizard and I would need to insert the nearest christmas tree into whoever was responsible for inflicting so much agony on so many people.
Anyway, job done I returned home feeling quite smug, now able to complete the small part of the process that I have any responsibility for.
There was a time, many years ago, when my main cast at Christmas was to fill the children stockings. Sorry if this is a spoiler for anyone, but the man in the red suit and the rest of it is a myth. I would of course leave it until Christmas Eve and late on christmas eve at that. I would have been to the pub for a few drinks with friends and would return after closing time to find a mince pie and glass of sherry waiting for me. Having struggled to deal with this offering I would then fill the socks with bits and pieces and quietly transfer them to the foot of each of their beds. They never once woke up so I guess I was able to keep quiet.
Now it is the grandchildren that hang up socks on christmas eve and it is their parents job to maintain the myth and the harmless lies that we tell our children, while we look on and enjoy the memories of our own childhoods.
So we are near to the end of the process; so much time and energy spent on wondering what to buy and then buying it. So much umming and aahing about the annual christmas card battle and the huge expense on stamps, the stocking of vast quantities of alcohol and food, the yards of wrapping paper and the real enemy - sellotape, the end of which is forever vanishing. Soon it will all be over and the landfill sites will be festooned with the waste and the big businesses will count their profits while we wander witlessly into another year.
Wishing that anyone reading this has a joyful time with friends and family, enjoy your Christmas or whatever you choose to call this festival of capitalism gone crazy.
Being a monday and being not too close to the actual event, the shops were not the usual feeding frenzy and all seemed pretty quiet and almost normal. Normal that is apart from the fact that all of the shops seem obliged to play endless streams of christmas muzak and many of the poor workers were dressed as elves. I did feel for them, sitting at their tills for hours on end, looking both bored and stupid. I don't think my tenuous grip of sanity would last a day in those conditions; give me ten minutes of Bing Crosby or Wizard and I would need to insert the nearest christmas tree into whoever was responsible for inflicting so much agony on so many people.
Anyway, job done I returned home feeling quite smug, now able to complete the small part of the process that I have any responsibility for.
There was a time, many years ago, when my main cast at Christmas was to fill the children stockings. Sorry if this is a spoiler for anyone, but the man in the red suit and the rest of it is a myth. I would of course leave it until Christmas Eve and late on christmas eve at that. I would have been to the pub for a few drinks with friends and would return after closing time to find a mince pie and glass of sherry waiting for me. Having struggled to deal with this offering I would then fill the socks with bits and pieces and quietly transfer them to the foot of each of their beds. They never once woke up so I guess I was able to keep quiet.
Now it is the grandchildren that hang up socks on christmas eve and it is their parents job to maintain the myth and the harmless lies that we tell our children, while we look on and enjoy the memories of our own childhoods.
So we are near to the end of the process; so much time and energy spent on wondering what to buy and then buying it. So much umming and aahing about the annual christmas card battle and the huge expense on stamps, the stocking of vast quantities of alcohol and food, the yards of wrapping paper and the real enemy - sellotape, the end of which is forever vanishing. Soon it will all be over and the landfill sites will be festooned with the waste and the big businesses will count their profits while we wander witlessly into another year.
Wishing that anyone reading this has a joyful time with friends and family, enjoy your Christmas or whatever you choose to call this festival of capitalism gone crazy.
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