Back soon...

Due to circumstances beyond your host's control, the Tavern bar is currently unmanned.

Having found your way here, you are clearly a reader of discernment and excellent taste and can be trusted to help yourself from the barrels in my absence.

You are therefore cordially invited to pour yourself a drink and peruse the archives  - I expect to be back in just over a week's time. A good place to start might be the attached label 'Seasonal Insanity' - some things never change.

Let them pull crackers!

Foodbanks, we are told, provide essential sustenance to those in dire need and are a last resort for desperate people struggling to feed their families.

What, then, should we make of this appeal in a local paper soliciting donations to a foodbank of (this is the complete list):

'selection boxes, crackers, tins of biscuits, savoury items, non-alcoholic drinks and crackers for cheese'?

This triumph of sentimentality over reason is a gesture with 'Zeitgeist' written all over it, made for a generation reared to the strains of 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all?' Since the popular culture of a nation now dedicates several days of the year to over-consumption, everyone should be enabled to take part in this seasonal communion.

It's an argument which, taken to extremes, led to an interview I once heard on the radio - sadly, I have been unable to trace it since - in which an indignant woman condemned Oxfam Unwrapped for sending 'gifts' of tools and household utensils to needy families in Africa.

"They don't want spades! They want the same things as you; iPods, phones, nice clothes. If you're going to give them a gift, give what you would have given to your relative or friend."

Assuming that the supply of aid is not unlimited, should charity really consist of giving luxuries to someone who lacks the basics for survival? I suspect, in the case of festive foodbank items,  the answer has more to do with a warm glow of satisfaction for the donor - and the appeal sponsors - than with providing essential assistance to those in need.

And that is, of course, without the interesting element of health concerns. The foodbank in question is in a town where, according to a friend who works in healthcare, many of the poorest inhabitants are seriously overweight and unhealthy and there is a high incidence of diabetes; surely the last thing they need is more 'recreational' food.

The oddest item on the list, though, has to be 'crackers'. Since they later stipulate 'crackers for cheese', it appears that they are asking for party ones, surely an unusual item for a foodbank to be distributing and an expensive one for the donors when the same amount of money would buy a respectable amount of protein or fresh produce.

Christmas has long since lost its religious significance for a large part of the population - assisted by the Hanukkah-friendly 'holiday season' TV, films and music of the USA - and been replaced by an ever-increasing consumerfest of vanities in which everyone is entitled to join, even if it is at someone else's expense.

This is, I should add, an indirect appeal by a local firm rather than by the foodbank itself; I can't say it has done much to enhance my opinion of their staff's intelligence, but what can you expect, given the norms dictated by constant seasonal bombardment of retail advertising?

Still here...

...despite the combined predictions of the Mayans and Nostradamus - 'Gangnam Style's' YouTube video having notched up the prophecy-fulfilling nine zeros (see previous post).

And there's been another reprieve too; remember 2011AG5? That's the catchy name they gave a 140m-wide chunk of rock on course to pass close by in 2040 - so close that, earlier this year, it was announced (by Americans, naturally)  that we were in a 'non-zero impact probability situation'.

It turns out that the phrase - though a delight in itself - was a little premature; further observation has confirmed that it will get no closer that 890,000 miles away.

So - what's new? Well, despite the optimistic forecasts of the hopeful, I can't imagine that there will be any less of Man's inhumanity to Man and I very much doubt that the potential end of the world brought about any  Damascene conversions - though I do wonder whether it played a part in causing the gridlock at my local supermarket on Friday morning; "Quick, Daphne; go and get some more bread in - the world's about to end!"

The combination of approaching festivities, forecasts of bad weather and pay-day would, I suppose, have produced a perfect storm even without the added frisson of a sense of impending doom, however unlikely.

It's odd, when you come to think of it, how this supposed festival has become a major theatrical production with all the worry and problems that entails. Type 'Christmas stress' into Google and you'll be offered a choice of 176,000,000 entries.

Not surprisingly, the Guardian has homed in on this:

Dr Orla Dunn, senior lecturer in health psychology at Coventry, added that there were health risks at Christmas too.

 "In terms of the health effects of stress, people who spend weeks worrying about Christmas can suffer a breakdown in their immune system, leaving them susceptible to colds. Coming into contact with more people at Christmas exposes people to more infections."

And that's without the threat of norovirus and flu - ironic that some will be brought low by an infection that prevents them consuming any of the excessive amount of food they have run themselves into the ground to procure, like songbirds struggling to feed a ravenous cuckoo chick.

Meanwhile, talking of food, in case the Righteous needed a heads-up, Dr Dunn continues with her message of peace and goodwill:

"Eating fattening foods, taking less exercise and stressful situations between family members can really take its toll on your health."

She and her team are 'surprised at the lack of research on the effects of Christmas on mental well-being' - which I think translates as 'we've run out of research projects to do - anyone fancy funding this one?'

Here at the Tavern, we discovered the solution long ago thanks to a timely major power-cut one Christmas Eve; if you don't get the preparations done, it doesn't matter in the least. There is no deficit or omission that cannot be remedied with a hug and a laugh (or - in the case of toilet rolls - a trip to the all-night petrol station).

These days, as soon as getting ready ceases to be enjoyable, everyone downs tools and gathers round the fire with his or her drink of choice and the unspoken agreement that we don't care whether it's finished or not as long as we're all happy and the sherry/whisky/wine supply holds up.

'Make some criminal’s Christmas miserable'...

... is the headline of the Oxford Mail's current crime-fighting initiative.

In conjunction with Thames Valley Police, the paper is publishing details and photographs of two dozen wanted criminals from the local area in what is memorably designated the 'Badvent Calendar'.

For the third year running, every day until Christmas Eve, the paper will reveal a new 'festive fugitive' suspect and details of his or her crimes.

Oxford area commander Supt Chris Sharp last night said: “It ties in with the advent calendars that are a tradition at Christmas. [...] We want to make sure we gather these people before the end of the year."

Thus, along with the 'Cinderella' shoplifter who left his own shoes behind at the scene and the robber who held up a cosmetic counter with a pair of scissors,

Lurking behind door seven of our criminal Christmas calendar is an Oxford woman suspected of shoplifting and staying at a “high quality” hotel without paying. 

Now I can't speak as a Christian, but isn't there something just a little odd about linking this rogues' gallery with the expectation of the Nativity?

I have to admit I'm enough of a linguistic pedant to be annoyed at the whole concept of 25-day 'advent' calendars that have less to do with Christianity than with the products of industrial confectioners or Walt Disney, implying that the eagerly awaited arrival in question is that of a materialistic shower of gifts.

And one of the earliest posts on this blog was prompted by the 'advent calendars' for dogs and cats being sold in a local petshop, which take anthropomorphism to a whole new level - although St Francis of Assisi might have approved.

But while this tendency towards the secular and the introduction of chocolate are relatively harmless - if somewhat depressing as a reminder that, for Generation Entitlement, every day is a treat day - I can't help feeling that something about this Thames Valley Police initiative seems just a little bit tasteless.

Extracurricular activities, Essex style

Oh dear; looks like the silly season for Christmas stories has begun.

A primary school has outraged parents by doing “away with the manger” in its annual nativity play and making children act out a "politically correct" jewellery heist.

This, you may not be surprised to learn, is from Canvey Island, where staff have apparently decided that grand larceny is more relevant to their local community than the traditional shepherds and stable.

The “Christmas Tale” stars a pair of robbers, named Bob and Bill, who raid a jewellery store in broad daylight to steal a manger full of rubies and emeralds.

You've got to admit they may be right; according to the Telegraph, there have been seven violent armed raids in the area in the past six weeks, making it - probably - a more common occurrence than a teenage mother giving birth in a garage to a baby of dubious parentage.

And, since many of the 'traditions' of primary school nativity plays owe more to sentimental embellishment and renaissance iconography than to biblical sources, one might argue that the story is fair game for a substantial rewrite - if, indeed, it is performed at all.

But isn't it just a little odd, in a community that has seen so many armed robberies recently, to appoint two children to act out the part of modern-day criminals while the rest of them sing a distinctly unorthodox version of 'Away in a a Manger' (with some very dodgy scansion) about their raid on a high street shop?

“They knocked off the jewellers,
Though it was broad daylight,
They stole loads of diamonds,
To their utter delight.”

I fervently hope that the director of this theatrical masterpiece is not a devotee of the Stanislavski Method of acting, where actors seek out real-life experiences in preparation for their roles; in view of the recent spate of armed robberies nearby, perhaps it would be worth taking a closer look at the CCTV footage to look see if the perpetrators were less than four feet tall.

Cometh the hour, cometh the tune

The ever-cynical Demetrius has Christmas in his sights this week - or, more particularly, the excessive consumer spending increasingly promoted as the appropriate way to celebrate the birth of a man who advised his followers to give away their material possessions.

"It is possible that this year it may go beyond simple hyperactivity into manic warp drive of persuasion and almost bullying to make us buy. Governments will need the figures to look “good” that is in a way that suggests that they can buy a little more time before making difficult decisions. Business and banking need our spending as never before."

His post - do read it in full if you haven't already - reflects what I was thinking this afternoon on a rare foray into our local shopping centre, so I shall limit my own contribution to commenting on one aspect of shopping that has made several previous appearances here.

Although it is only November, the usual suspects are already beginning to put in an unwelcome appearance - an exhortation to rock around the Christmas tree or have myself a merry little Christmas is just what I need to enhance my loathing of my fellow man on a foggy afternoon.

But it was a new addition to the well-worn repertoire that caught my ear today and prompted  thoughts of Demetrius' post; a bluesy number sung by B B King (I googled it when I got home, so striking were the words):

Christmas time comes but once a year,
I'm so happy, my kids are happy too,
It'll take the next six months to pay my bills -
When I think about it folks it gives me chills
But I don't care 'cause Christmas comes but once a year. 

There's another verse about having fun - 'I don't care what I have to pay; Let the good times roll' - and the whole thing is on a loop, dripped into the receptive ears of shoppers as they browse the rails of disposable fashion for all the family with a message eerily similar to the consumption-promoting sleep-teaching of Brave New World.

If Demetrius is right, this, along with the much-vaunted, high-profile television adverts, may be the first sign of a brutal softening-up process aimed at brainwashing consumers into unprecedented levels of spending.

(Christmas Comes But Once A Year; lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc. )

Christmas shopping - no thanks!

One of my favourite Giles cartoons features the family at breakfast. As Grandma descends the stairs, Mother reaches out to turn off the radios on the table:"Off transistors!" she says, "Nothing puts Grandma in her 'let's-hang-everybody' mood quicker than Wonderful Radio 1."

Regular readers will know that, for me, Christmas music has roughly the same effect. I don't mean the classical stuff; I'm very happy with the odd oratorio or a traditional carol, but the nauseating drivel that fills your ears in virtually any enclosed public space at this time of year makes my blood boil.

Prime offenders are, of course, the Americans; lacking a sensible tradition of wassailing*, yule logs or holly and ivy (all, incidentally, good Norse pagan customs), they have invented the cult of Christmas, an amalgam of drippy pseudo-nostalgia and ersatz emotion where sentimentality is viewed as a positive attribute.

Those of us who decline the invitation to rock around the Christmas tree or have ourselves a merry little Christmas are probably no great loss to the retailers pumping out this stuff; I'd like to think we have more sense than to spend unreasonable sums on overpriced tat.

As a timely antidote to the crass jollity and commercialism of the season, I'd like to offer one of my favourite alternatives, Tom Lehrer's Christmas Carol, dedicated to Longrider and his aversion to organised fun:

* Memorably described thus by Bill Bryson:
In Anglo-Saxon times, it was customary for someone offering a drink to say 'Wassail!' and for the recipient to respond 'Drinkhail!' and for the participants to repeat the exercise until comfortably horizontal.

Secret Santa - a product of derangement*

It being the feast of St Nicholas for those who do that sort of thing, I thought it would be the appropriate time to fulminate against one of the more pointless activities carried out in his name.

Several bloggers have already posted on the abomination that is the employees' Christmas party - enforced crass jollity with a bunch of people whose only common factor is that they work in the same building. I'm off the hook this year - the plan for a beer-tasting at a local brewery has once again been shelved, happily confirming my metaphorical opinion of my employers.

There is, however, no escape from the horror of Secret Santa. The workplace variety is probably the most monstrous of all; soooner or later, a member of staff will get the bit between his (or more usually her) teeth and you are dragooned into the whole sorry business.

For anyone fortunate enough to have missed this creeping phenomenon so far - just wait; they'll come for you in the end - each person in a group draws the name of another and buys them a present to a pre-arranged budget. The presents are given anonymously; thus everyone receives a gift and participants have the sense of universal generosity while only making one purchase.

Now that's all well and good - and even pleasantly economical - in families, say, or groups of close friends where presents would be customary. But how many people, particularly in the current climate, want to spend money on presents for their work colleagues? How do you even know what they would like?

And don't even think about refusing; if everyone else has caved in - or, worse, is enthusiastic - you'll never hear the end of it. Politeness dictates that you agree, so you find yourself obliged to buy a meaningful gift for someone you hardly know.

Unless you a) are highly creative and b) have plenty of spare time, this will probably mean heading for one of the major retailers, who have not been slow to cash in on the practice; there are Secret Santa sections springing up on all sides on retail websites and in the high street.

So the day arrives; the spirit of St Nicholas is celebrated with a vast heap of plastic ephemera, unwanted items and cross-purposes - the law of averages dictating that every group contains someone whose idea of a joke is a mankini or furry handcuffs and a grown-up who will have taken it seriously and given a bottle of good wine.

Should you find yourself entangled in one of these schemes and unable to make a graceful exit, it's no good trying to get away with an empty box - unless you want to upset the instigator. I recommend an alternative present so bizarre and out of keeping with the consumerist spirit that you'll never be asked again.

My current favourite is Oxfam Unwrapped's £5 load of manure, but I'm open to suggestions...


*For statisticians, this means a permutation of names on a list such that everyone is paired with someone different. For the rest of us, it just means what it says.

Bah Humbug (shoo-shooby-doo)!

Somewhere out there is the person responsible for the compilations of Christmas music played in shopping centres throughout the land and I want his head on a plate. He (or she) has collected together some of the most nauseating, mawkish and tasteless Christmas songs possible and unleashed them on a defenceless public already at the mercy of the retail behemoths.

A recent foray in search of socks and pyjamas exposed your correspondent to rather too much of it this week - a particular irritation being Debenhams' endlessly repeated 'Santa Baby' (verb. sap. - all that 'put a sable under the tree' stuff doesn't go down too well in the current economic climate).

Anyone who has spent time shopping recently will be familiar with the subcategories - syrupy renditions of the cuter and fluffier carols, a cod 1950's American earmuffs-and-cosy-log-fires vibe and, of course, the Band Aid single (sorry, St Bob and the blessed Midge, but they probably didn't care whether 'It's Christmas time', on account of a substantial proportion of them not being Christians, as well as not having enough to eat).

If the single were doing its job, customers would be flocking round the corner to the Oxfam shop, where a veritable cornucopia of cards and fair-trade presents awaits the shopper with a social conscience but instead, they just merrily hum along while filling their baskets with overpriced gifty tat.

Since the recession-hit holiday season bears as much resemblance to 'a merry little Christmas' ('next year all our troubles will be out of sight?' Yeah, right!) as the November fog does to a 'winter wonderland', we need something to replace this crass jollity.

Suggestions would be welcome; meanwhile, I'm going shopping to buy myself some earmuffs.

Santa's a Sexist

GIRL IN SANTA LETTER TRAIN SET SCANDAL!

Alice (9) shocked family and friends yesterday by revealing that she had asked Santa for a train set. As horrified parents covered the ears of younger children, she also admitted to wanting meccano, a chemistry set and a bow and arrow. "I don't know what's come over her" sobbed her mother, "she used to be such a nice little girl! She loved her dolls and her Disney princess outfits."

Relatives are now worried about her brother Neil (5) who has expressed an interest in a toy kitchen. "It's probably because of Gordon Ramsay and Jamie Oliver," said an expert, " but we will be monitoring the situation closely in case there are any signs of an interest in housework- or nurture-related toys."

No wonder Britain is short of female scientists - take a look at the toy catalogues cascading through your door this season and see the way they portray children playing. Argos go one better, placing all science-based toys in a section labelled 'Boys' toys' while the 'Girls'' section contains Bratz and Barbie.

Not that this would deter any sensible parent; it is simply pandering to the limited outlook of adults whose own aspirations and expectations prevent them understanding that children are individuals and, in modern British society, should be able to escape the restrictions that bound previous generations.

Unless some seasonal sharing goes on - 'Ralph, did you change the labels on the presents again?' - then many potential future scientists will spend another Christmas surrounded by pink fluffy things while their brothers happily mix up sulphates and scan the night sky.

A Sale of Two Titties...

... made of bright pink nylon, 20% off; also a breast-shaped face flannel, a soap hilariously inscribed 'bum' on one side and 'face' on the other and a bow tie designed to be worn on what the Elizabethans called the privy member. All of these can be found this weekend at 20% off the marked price in a popular high street store.

Tacky, tasteless and sexist, these articles are being marketed as 'stocking fillers' according to the sign on the display - a perfect example of the infantilisation of the British male. Even at 20% off, they weren't exactly flying off the shelves and will probably end up in the January sales with a non-existent profit margin (the more frugally minded among you might like to note that the bow tie would admirably suit a small teddy bear).

Quite apart from their inherent vulgarity, the price of £3-£5 makes it highly likely that this exploitative tat was assembled by low-paid workers in a third world sweatshop, quite possibly in a region where they hold strict religious beliefs. Oh, to be a fly on the wall as they discussed the products and their eventual purchasers!

The astounding thing is that in this summer's financial climate a buyer actually thought it was a good idea to order hundreds of bow ties for bits and have them imported from the other side of the world. One silver lining to the cloud of global recession and a sinking pound is that it may make retailers a little more discerning about what they choose to import for next Christmas.