I don't wear jumpers, they are the most un-stylish garment of all and I am far too elegant to don such an item. Further to that, I am usually too warm so I boil in one. I bought a sweater once in the early 80s, it was a chunky cable knit thing and I looked such a twat in it I never bought another. The other reason I don't wear them is that a tight jumper accentuates my beer belly and the loose ones make me look like a fat bastard trying to cover it up. Jumpers and I don't get on hence my deep concern regarding the rise in popularity of the christmas version of this abhorrent knitwear.
From my own personal, historical perspective the rise of the christmas jumper began with the film ' Bridget Jones' Diary' where Darcy is seen wearing a ridiculous sweater with a reindeer on it. He looked suitably embarrassed and Bridget mocked him for it quite rightly. Since then, and probably because of many repeats of this brilliant film the christmas jumper has morphed into the ' must have, fun thing to wear' and is no longer an Item for ridicule.
This year has seen the christmas jumper take a particularly unwelcome and insidious turn. It has now been promoted to the heady heights of a 'fun charity fund- raiser.' There are posters up all over work asking me to wear a jumper in aid of charity. The question is, do I not wear one and seem a miserable, miserly curmudgeon or do I bite the bullet and go and buy one, with the additional expense of a donation to charity? I seem to have been checkmated by knitwear.
I suspect a government plot behind this to boost the economy by ensuring everyone has to buy this woollen garment. After all, where did this Idea for a national Charity jumper wearing event come from? I expect they have agents out there monitoring non-compliance. In fact, I'm sad to say that my most excellent friend, drinking buddy and all-round great bloke, Neil has already posted a picture on farcebook wearing his; hence he must be one of them. I'm expecting a knock on my door any day now from Neil and his shadowy henchmen in Christmas jumpers demanding to see mine.
I must confess that Dearly Beloved and I have given such jumpers as presents this year and there is a very good chance that I will receive one. In many ways that would be excellent as it means I won't have the indignity of going to buy one, I shall be equipped for future charity events and I will have something to show the Shadowy men should they knock. Still, the fact remains that I have been bested by my old enemy the jumper. What is the world coming to?
PS; Please feel free to inform me of your own personal history of the rise of the christmas jumper.
PPS: in case you were wondering, I didn't wear one and everyone thinks I'm a miserly curmudgeon... but then they did anyway.
Last week, some cheeky blighter had the audacity to try and tell me Father Christmas doesn't exist, that he was a figment of the imagination and that my parents had been lying to me. This fellow was clearly a deranged madman but I took pity on him and rather than send him packing I tried to explain the error of his ways.
'There are plenty of pictures of the great man,' I said, 'some in his modern red attire as devised by Coca Cola and then in his more traditional green outfit from his pagan deity days. Even from his Saint Nicolas days in the fourth century when he was a Greek Christian bishop in the Byzantine Empire famous for his extravagant charitable acts. Yes the image has changed over the years but the Character is a real as any historical character whose legacy lives on, people such as Plato and Aristotle whose ideas have inspired the world.'
'But he doesn't live in the North Pole with his elves making toys' countered the doubting thomas. 'Of course not you imbecile' I said, 'There's no electricity up there for one thing and the logistics would be a nightmare. However, he does have factories the world over producing goods whose only purpose is to be given as presents. Pointless items which serve no purpose except to be given to someone. Christmas jumpers, crackers with cheap plastic toys, stocking fillers, soap on a rope which is exactly what the elves are supposed to do. Hundreds of thousands of people the world over are employed to make Christmas related tat. They are not elves but Father Christmas employs them all and feeds their families. Is that not real?'
'You can't deny that many people go out of their way to help their fellow man at Christmas. The Christmas spirit is a palpable thing. It's an ethos or concept similar to those that drive Medicens Sans Frontiere, Save the Children or Greenpeace. Would you say their ethos is not real? If it were removed they may as well pack up and go home because it's the reason they exist. What makes Christmas spirit less real than these?'
'A thing doesn't have to have a physical entity to make it true, Santa's influence is no less measurable than global warming, black holes or quantum physics or even music, you can't photograph it but that doesn't mean it isn't there. He is more real than a hermit who lives in his house and never see's anyone and never goes out because he has more influence in the world.'
As for visiting every house on Christmas Eve, he does although not in person but in spirit. It's the same as the picture of God as a kindly, old man living in the sky. It's what they tell children to make it easier for them to understand. Like religion, the actual truth is more sophisticated. Father Christmas enters everyone's lives on Christmas Eve to a greater or lesser degree. Have you ever tried to keep him out, it's impossible. He doesn't come down the chimney, that's just a metaphor for entering through the portal of your heart, mind, or memory.
So I said to the ignorant detractor, 'you call yourself a man of science, a doctor no less, yet you still refuse to believe the evidence although it is plain to see. Are you unable to make the leap from childish thinking to adult rationalisation because someone said he doesn't exist? It's thinking like that that led to the Flat Earth Society. On every level Father Christmas exists and yet you refuse to acknowledge him for fear of old playground taunts. Shame on you.'
The Doctor shook his head and replied ' Well we are all entitled to our opinions Mr Bill, Now, just let me tighten the straps on your straight jacket and the nurse will be in shortly for your injection.
Those of you who read my blog regularly will know that I'm a fan of George Orwell and have read 1984 several times. The reason is that it seems to become more prophetic as time goes on. For those of you not familiar with the book, one of the key elements is that the world is divided into three warring states, Eastasia, Eurasia and Oceania. Britain is in Oceania which is permanently at war with one of the other states with troops purportedly fighting valiantly in some far flung land. They alternate alliances randomly with no one side ever winning or losing. The continuing war effort is the excuse the government uses to keep everyone in near poverty, ensure constant shortages of goods and to bring in draconian measures to spy on the population and prevent movement and thereby possible subversion. The workers are required to attend daily 'two minutes hate' where they watch films and listen to reports designed to stir up hatred and fear of the evil slant-eyed foreigners who eat babies, rape women and carry out obscene atrocities. The government even bomb their own cities from time to time to prevent the public becoming complacent.
I'm not suggesting that the above is going on but I can't help but notice the parallels with Syria. There are four factions; each with their own patch of land and each fighting for different causes, there is no one common enemy. No one faction has the military might to win a land-based war outright without the assistance of a major power putting boots on the ground and ,understandably, the major powers are unwilling to commit troops. They would much rather bomb them from the air with minimal risk to personnel. The Americans have been bombing for four years and there doesn't seem to be an end to. In fact the opposite seems to be true as it serves as an excellent recruiting tool for ISIS (or DAESH if you prefer) by securing a flood of new recruits.
There is an argument that war is good for the economy in terms of arms, ammunition and vehicles manufactured then sold. You make something then blow it up so you have to make another one. Britain is a top supplier of arms and you don't get to be top without recognizing a sales opportunity when you see one. Each faction is being supplied by a different major power, even if it's not directly and perhaps some are even supplying more than one.
So, we have a situation where we have an unwinnable war using a large amount of armaments made by the West and Russia. These powers, including the Saudis, are fighting a war by proxy in the Middle East. There is minimal risk to Western troops thereby avoiding the political opposition generated by pictures of dead and wounded soldiers. It's far enough away so the general public only have a vague idea where it is so it is not a direct threat to them. The terrorist attacks carried out by Islamist extremists cause panic and alarm which gives the politicians a mandate from the public to continue military action and bring in new laws that infringe our civil liberties in ways that would not be tolerated under different circumstances. Although we don't have the daily 'two minutes hate' we do have the press who do an equally efficient job of spreading hate and fear. If they play their cards right and with a bit of careful planning and manipulation, the powers that be can probably keep the war going indefinitely.
I'm not making a political point here and this is nothing new, Orwell foresaw it in 1948. No need to worry though, just remember, War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery and Ignorance is Strength... and Big Brother loves you.
I have just finished reading Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles and now I'm in need of a new book, or rather ebook. I have several candidates in mind including three biographies and four specific fiction books. Then again, I am in the mood for some historical or political non- fiction. Then again, maybe Conn Iggulden has published the third instalment of his War of the Roses series by now. As you can see, thanks to Amazon, the list is nigh-on endless.
In the days before I got my Kindle fire I used to go down the library regularly and get a non- fiction book about whatever I was into at the time and a fiction book. Now I might seem a bit anorak-ish but I used to work my way through the alphabet to discover new writers. If my last fiction book's author began with 'C' I would scour the 'D' section till I found something interesting. This probably sounds a bit daft but I discovered the likes of Martin Amis, Wiliam Boyd and Terry Pratchett this way amongst others, authors I might not have picked up otherwise. There was a large collection in the library and this made selection easier but the number of ebooks seem almost infinite, and therein lies the problem. How do you choose?
The problem with ebooks is that many of them are bloody awful. At least with actual books you had a professional publisher who had to put money into the venture and this acted like a kind of quality control. Now people can self-publish so you have to pick your way through the weeds to find anything decent. Amazon doesn't care if it sells or not because it doesn't cost them anything. It's like those times when you would rent a likely looking DVD from the shop, take it home and realise in the first ten minutes the film was going to be awful but you keep watching hoping it will pick up. It never does and it's hugely disappointing.
Another phenomenon I have noticed sneaking in is the 'companion book' or 'after-read.' A short while ago I finished reading The Martian (as in the film). As I flicked over the last page no less than five recommended books popped up. At least three of which appeared to be extended book reviews written by either A level students or pretentious English teachers to tell me all about what I had just read. None of which were from the original author or claimed to have any further insights apart from their own interpretation. One claimed to explain the science in the book, no doubt using Google and Wikipedia as information sources. Even if it had been written by a bone-fide NASA scientist it would be as interesting as reading a washing machine manual. I just makes me want to scream 'stop cashing in and blood-sucking off of other authors by peddling your own puerile shit off the back of their success. Go and do your own work, you're not an author you're a leach.' I might been over reacting a little though. ' That reminds me, I've been meaning to read George Orwell's 'Road to Wigan Pier' for years, now there's a guy who would know what I'm talking about.
I bought some goods the other day and was pointedly told by the shopkeeper that the carrier bag was free. It was free because he is a small business. If he had 250 employees, he would have been legally obliged to charge me for the bag and his shop would have been very crowded. He then went into a rant about police standing on street corners monitoring who charges for bags and who doesn't and the general pointlessness of un-enforceable laws in the way of bored English shopkeepers all over the country. Fundamentally though, I agree with the principle of the charge.
I don't mind paying for carrier bags, it's only for a few pence and also I agree with the stated reasoning. Anyway, what's the alternative, I'm far to sartorially elegant to walk around with plastic bags sticking out of my pockets just in case I happen to need one. I certainly don't want one of those 'Roy Cropper shopping bags' as featured by the less than macho Mr Cropper on Coronation Street to carry backwards and forwards to my local Tesco nor one of those shopping trolleys used by old ladies. I couldn't stand the indignity, I would rather pay 50 pence a bag.
I'm clearly missing the point which is to make me think twice about my need for a bag and to save the world by not buying one. No doubt there are 'green minded' people who would reuse bags anyway and those for whom no amount of charge would make a difference and all the shades in between. For me, five pence isn't enough to persuade me to festoon myself with empty bags in case I might need some.
The DEFRA website says that is up to the individual retailers to spend the money on 'good causes' of their choice as long as they report the amount raised to the government annually. All the major retailers have got on board and nominated various charities to donate the money to. Many of the charities cover things that the councils used to cover but can't afford to now. Things like tiding up public land and 'community projects.'
One can't help but be saddened by islands the size of small countries made of plastic and adrift in our oceans. The scientists seem to be agreed that there is nothing that can be done about them due to the cost and enormity of the clean- up operation and lack of political will. I would gladly pay 50 pence per bag if I thought it was going to an international effort to seriously tackle these 'great garbage patches and other worldwide environmental issues but it's not. It does however, seem to be going to further the stated Tory aim of de-centralising government. They have already said they intend to do this by using charitable donations and local community projects to help people take care of themselves; sound familiar? This seems to me like a landlord saying that he still wants you to pay the rent but now you have to do your own house repairs and improvements because he doesn't want the responsibility any more.
Call me a cynic but I'm suspicious of the government's motives for this carrier bag charge. I am sure overall people will use less bags but will the bag producers just ramp up their refuse sac output to cover the loss of revenue. Will there be less plastic manufactured? It's unlikely. An old phrase springs to mind, which, given a little twist and taken literally, seems to sum up the situation. Cameron is 'not as green as he is cabbage looking.' You can take that both ways.
When we were young, my brother and I listened to a lot of music. In those days it was either vinyl or badly recorded tapes made at home. It was the golden age of hi-fi when folk would spend hours discussing the various merits of speaker and amp combinations. They would spend their time gazing out of the window listening to every nuance of every instrument on their equipment which was the size of a side-board. Not my brother and I, we would crank it up and party on down. Our records were used and abused and played to death on our cheap system. None of that prog rock hippy shit for us, we were into punk and ska, new wave and the blues.
Technology moved on and vinyl went the way of the Ford Cortina and the horse drawn plough. I sold some of my old punk records which I still regret and stashed a box of LPs in the loft. Some of these records I seem to have acquired rather than bought. I'm please to say I definitely don't have Andy's supercharger album so my life is safe for the time being as he threatened to kill the bloke who nicked it. I might have an old friends Led Zeppelin IV though and I think I have one of Paul's Small Faces albums. I used to lend them out quite freely in those days so I have probably lost at least as many as I have gained. The last album I bought on vinyl was Kate Bush The Hounds of Love which was released in 1985, that means my records have not seen the light of day for nigh on twenty years.
Just recently my most excellent brother in law from Hemel dug his expensive Hi Fi out of the loft, refurbished it and spent a lot of money on a new stylus and has re-discovered the superior sound of vinyl went played on a quality system.
He and his lovely wife invited Dearly Beloved and I round for a drink so I took my treasure chest of musical gems round to join the party. I had forgotten what excellent musical taste I have and what an awesome collection of records I had amassed, although I also saved Dearly Beloved's Wham and 80s Tina Turner record but we won't mention those.
Now as I have already mentioned I saved all my favourite ones, those heroes from my youth that had been played to death and it seems death is the correct word. My old troupers have many wounds in the forms of nicks, scratches and dents. I was like a general surveying his troops after their return from a bitter conflict with Dave ( my Brother in Law)examining them and giving his prognosis like a sympathetic doctor giving bad news, he should have been wearing a white coat. We arrived at the conclusion that my battle weary soldiers were only fit for retirement, sad but noble warriors that they are. We tried to play a couple of the better ones but alas, even those jumped.
The question is what to do with them. I can't bear to throw them out so I will respectfully retire them to the loft like a bunch of Chelsea pensioners to moulder away and wait for their final resting place. I was supposed to go back round Dr Dave's to listen to some more vinyl and quaff obscene quantities of red wine but I had to cancel due to having to fix the floor in the kitchen. Dave messaged back with something like' it comes to something when your laying vinyl instead of playing vinyl.' an excellent comeback I thought which sums up the passing of the years and the heavy burden of responsibility that comes with being an old git. It would have been even funnier if the floor had actually been vinyl instead of wood.
Postscript; regarding last week's post, I have checked with another of my colleagues and she confirms the ghost does exist. It also moves furniture around in their lounge area and she once woke up with scratches on her arm which had drawn blood although her finger nails weren't long enough to have done it to herself... Spooky eh.
I'm on a diet, not a proper recognised one but I just watch what I eat as does everyone else over thirty who has noticed with alarm their growing paunch. Alas all my good intentions become undone as this diet doesn't extend to alcohol. I have been promising to give up the demon drink since 1985 but there has no progress on this front as yet although I am still hopeful. Due to my self-imposed eating regime I hardly ever have chips but yesterday was an exception.
I had spent the morning sitting in the waiting room of a cold and draughty garage getting some new tyres fitted and my brake pads replaced. The garage was definitely in my home town but the draught came all the way from Siberia and the door wouldn't close properly so three of us sat there shivering. It was one of those bleak, grey overcast days that threatened rain and makes you depressed just looking at it. After the garage expedition I went to the council dump to off load some rotten wood and other household junk then came home and fiddled about trying to fix the dish washer which was leaking so I got wet, hey ho. It was about lunchtime by now and I was exceptionally hungry and my usual fare of rabbit food or grilled vegetables just wasn't going to cut it.
Sometimes, for me at least, only a plateful of unhealthy stodge will do. It's like extreme comfort food so off to the chippy I went for a large chips, jumbo sausage and steak and kidney pie. I put on a DVD which I never do during the day, turned the heating up and stuffed myself; it was wonderful. I resisted the urge to photograph it and post it on Facebook which seems to be the thing to do these days. I could have had an egg salad but for some dark psychological reason I don't understand, I felt need for the loving embrace of a mountain of stodge. I must admit to feeling much better after and quietly content with the world. Some people like cake, others chocolate but for me it's a huge plateful of chip-shop chips with a pie and sausage balanced on the top.
Today it's back on the straight and narrow, I cycled to work in the pouring rain with my lunch of cold rice, mixed beans and diced chicken tucked into my back pack, it was as appetising as it sounds. I must be doing something right as I managed to cycle up a hill in sixth gear that I used to have to walk up although I'm still a fat bastard. Clearly the much maligned and unfashionable British staple has mystic powers of rejuvenation and spiritual replenishment not to be sneezed at. Jamie Oliver take note.
From my own personal, historical perspective the rise of the christmas jumper began with the film ' Bridget Jones' Diary' where Darcy is seen wearing a ridiculous sweater with a reindeer on it. He looked suitably embarrassed and Bridget mocked him for it quite rightly. Since then, and probably because of many repeats of this brilliant film the christmas jumper has morphed into the ' must have, fun thing to wear' and is no longer an Item for ridicule. 
