Month: December 2022

Advent #14

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, Family, Pets

My daughter never reads this, as I mentioned yesterday. I’m less confident making the same claim of my wife – so I may be asking for trouble by admitting that I had a Christmas dinner today without her.

Much as TS Eliot measured out his life with coffee spoons, I seem to measure out my holiday entitlement driving people to hospitals; today was a trip out with my daughter to an appointment which, although she’ll never read this, I’m not convinced she’d want anybody else reading about either so I won’t elaborate on. (Although, she was complimented on something people don’t often get compliments for (and by a professional, so somebody who knew what they were talking about (and what they were looking at)).

Anyway: afterwards, in the time-honoured tradition of making sure your offspring are eating properly, we went looking for food, ending up at a pub with, to finally get to the point, a Special Christmas Menu. Granted, it was padded out with non-festive fare (unless I’m missing an obvious connection between the cheeseburger and the Magi) but it contained, top billing, a Turkey Dinner. A short while later, I contained it too.

We always have duck for Christmas lunch, so this made a nice change. Luckily, there’s usually turkey available when we go down to visit my parents of a Christmas Day afternoon – and I have to admit, as the old people of my youth always seemed to say, it IS better cold.

Oddly enough, and it’s never occurred to me before, we never think about taking Mum and Dad some of our cold duck in exchange. We’ll definitely do that this year, the animals will just have to go without for once.

Not that they’ll find out until the Day itself. Our dogs NEVER read this.

Advent #13

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, Family

Unlike me, my daughter doesn’t waste much time on social media, meaning I can witter on about what we have got her for Christmas confident she’ll never read it: it’s a record player.

We’d quite like to get her an LP or two to go with it, but other than the generic “bands I’ve never heard of” I have no idea what groups she’s into. I suppose we could pick some ‘classic’ albums and tell her if she doesn’t like them to give them to someone who will. But it’s hard to say that without it sounding like, “No thought has gone into this present, so you may well hate it.”

If anything, a degree of over-thinking usually goes on (I have a spreadsheet and everything) which probably accounts for my poor showing as an impulse buyer. Those who remember back as far as last Friday, when I spent a freezing day Christmas shopping in Exeter, may be interested to know that in fact very little Christmas shopping went on – nowhere near as much as took place online between 10 and 11 am the following morning. (When, amongst other things, I bought a record player).

Certainly, I’d never be offended if somebody concluded they wouldn’t read/watch/be seen dead in what I’d given them, and gave it away instead. I thought I’d put that in writing now as I certainly won’t be saying it out loud while giving out presents in a week or two’s time; but anybody getting something they don’t like, feel free to take it as read that you can give it away.

Of course, by NOT reading this, my daughter won’t be aware of that – meaning that, for fear of offending, she could find herself forever stuck with Bucks Fizz’s Greatest Hits…

Advent #12

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in 1970s, Christmas, TV

When I was young the TV was full of Christmas ads. Probably. This was the 1970s, so Woolworths (may it rest in peace) must surely have rolled one out each year, all tinsel and celebs and catchy jingles. But I don’t remember any of them – with one surprising exception. Halfords.

One year, and I have a feeling it may have been several, Halford’s Christmas campaign was a simple list of ‘things we sell’ scrolling up a red & blue striped screen. I agree it doesn’t on the face of it sound like any sort of memorable, unforgettable campaign (it’s certainly no “Go to work on an egg” or “Graded grains make finer flour”) but in an inspired move it was made captivating and ear-catching by having the list sung to the tune of The Seekers Emerald City (or Beethoven’s Ode to Joy if you insist).

It’s too long ago now for me to remember anything other than the single phrase, “Speakers, Rad-i-os, Cassettes” – but clearly the upshot of it was that they were advertising car parts for Christmas. And I think, to be honest, the implication was car parts for Christmas, For Men (because this was the 1970s.)

I can certainly remember Dad being pleased to receive a ‘stick-on rear window heater’ one Christmas – back in the day when cars in general, and his in particular, didn’t have them as standard. And one year we gave my Uncle an alternator, to a similarly rapturous response.

Maybe it’s a generational thing, but I can’t honestly say I would be excited about receiving car parts for Christmas (and I’m not sure I’d recognise an alternator if I unwrapped one anyway). Besides, my car came already fitted with speakers and a radio.

But no cassettes. (This isn’t the 1970s.)

Advent #11

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas

Christmas must be a strange time for George Michael fans. On the one hand, he gets a huge amount of airplay due to the incredible staying power of Last Christmas – on the other, there’s the reminder of his sudden death on Christmas Day 2016. (At the risk of being insensitive, you could say it’s a double wham-y…?)

‘Celebrity deaths’ are, I guess, a relatively new thing – until perhaps as recently as 100 years ago, maybe even less, there were very few ‘famous’ people for the nation to collectively mourn. Monarchs of course, Prime Ministers and, I dunno, maybe the occasional war hero? But as far as I can see, no century before the twentieth would or could have had the equivalent communal experience of learning that, say, Angela Lansbury or Nicholas Parsons has passed away.

One of the things about getting older, as one’s opinion changes on where the line is between ‘young’ and ‘old’, is realising just how tragically young a lot of ‘celebrity deaths’ have been. George Michael was 53. Marti Caine 50. Tony Hancock, despite always contriving to look late-middle aged was only 44 when he took his own life.

It’s a slightly ghoulish subject I know, and apologies for that – although in the midst of life we are in death (as Vicars on TV want to keep reminding us). During one of our random dinner-time conversations here, perhaps with Ena Sharples in mind (who, in the first ever Corrie, was very clear about the music she wanted at her cremation) I said that I’d like to be sent into infinity with the Wings version of the Crossroads theme – but if some cack-handed crematorium employee despatches me accompanied by the Geoff Love Orchestra’s rendition of Emmerdale Farm, I shall definitely be coming back to haunt somebody! 

Advent #10

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas

I’m pleased to announce that I got it up this afternoon. I asked my wife to lend a hand, sometimes a woman’s touch makes all the difference doesn’t it but, well, she had a migraine so clearly that wasn’t happening. So I had to get it up and sorted all by myself. (Next door got it up last weekend, but they’re younger and more excitable.)

That’s (more than) enough of the feeble sub-Carry On innuendo, obviously I am referring to our Christmas tree which following this afternoon’s exertions is now, erm, erect in our sitting room. It really doesn’t feel like almost twelve months since I folded it up, packed it away and put it back on top of the wardrobe like some old style vent’ act (“You’re going back in the box”/”I’m not going gack in the gox” etc) but clearly it is – and today was the day to get it out again.

There was of course the same internal debate that I always have, namely whether we should bother decorating the dark side of the tree, the side facing the wall – we can only see the front, so isn’t it a bit pointless putting anything round the back? But this year it’s in the middle of the wall rather than in a corner, making the rear sort of visible through the window. So in a rather tragic “what will the neighbours say?” sort of way, I’ve decorated the back, rather than leaving it bare. I don’t do bows, it’s just your standard BLT (Baubles, Lights, Tinsel) but I don’t think it looks too shabby even if I do say so myself.

And it gives me a nice warm feeling in the evenings, seeing it there, tall and gently pulsing.

Ooh matron!

Advent #9

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in 1970s, Childhood, Christmas

We went to Exeter today, Christmas shopping. Knowing it was going to be cold I took my hat and gloves with me; unfortunately, I forgot to check on the coat that I “always” keep in the car…

It wasn’t there, and in fact said coat has spent the day hung up in the hallway enjoying a balmy 17 degrees. Suffice to say, it’s been a c-o-l-d day – but we’re home now and thawing nicely.

When I was in Primary School the heating system was some kind of, I think, oil-burning system – comprised of a large metal box in the classroom with, outside, a protruding sort of vent thingy (stop me if I’m getting too technical for you). These vents were encased in a wire cage, made an oddly-comforting rumbling noise, and if you spat on them (as I’m afraid Primary School boys in the late-1970s were inclined to do) they would hiss and give off a distinctive smell. We were always told to keep away from them ‘for safety’ – but come the first hint of cold weather, we of course spent every breaktime huddled round them.

The cold (and the cost of heating) has been in the news this week, for obvious reasons. Whenever the subject arises on, for example, The Jeremy Vine Show some bright spark will ring in to bemoan that people shouldn’t be complaining, because when THEY were young there was no central heating, they had ice inside their windows, etc.

I don’t mind a bit of nostalgia, and yes I can remember having frost inside my bedroom – but I definitely don’t miss it! The sentiment seems to be “it was awful for us then, so it should be awful for you now” but I’m afraid that kind of perverse, uncaring logic leaves me… cold. 

Advent #8

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, Doctor Who, Work

At work today one of our customers brought in a large box of chocolates, cakes, and oranges so fresh they still had the leaves on them. It was a token of appreciation for the past year, a kind thought.

Despite being short and thin, I am very much like a one-man plague of locusts when it comes to sweets, chocolates, and the like – so I wasn’t entirely convinced when my colleague opined that these would probably last us into the New Year. He’s far more sensible than me (just as well, really) and proposed that we should ‘ration’ everyone to one item a day, to ensure fair play. We all agreed that was a good idea. And then, he left the box in the office. With me. Alone.

Prepare for your jaw to drop when I tell you, I didn’t break that trust. I resisted the temptation, even though I could hear the siren song of a Crunchie bar calling to me.

When I got home, my Christmas present had arrived. It was just sitting there on the table. I knew exactly what it was, it wasn’t shrouded in mystery or anything – but it WAS still shrouded in the cardboard envelope that His Majesty’s Video sent it in. I’m bound to mention it again before the month is out, so for now suffice to say it was a boxset with a lovely picture of William Hartnell on the front, and a dozen episodes of red-hot (well, black & white hot) Dalek action inside.

My wife said I could have it early, and I must admit I was tempted. But it felt wrong and so, for the second time today, I did the right thing. No, I said bravely, lead me not into  temptation.

Get thee behind me, Santa.   

Advent #7

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, Confused

We recently invested in an air fryer. I was a bit dubious – not in the same way I was superstitiously opposed to dishwashers for the first twenty years of marriage, but in the sense that I had never even heard of an air fryer until my daughter bought one. It came with claims of being quicker (which it is) and cheaper (which it is) than the traditional oven; and also with claims that it makes very crispy roast potatoes.

The first time I tried, selecting the ‘Air Fry’ function and cooking them for about half an hour, they were certainly cooked but distinctly non-crispy. Undeterred, and paying a little more attention to the control panel on the front of the thing, second time round I selected ‘Roast’ – and lo and behold they were very crispy indeed, meaning that I couldn’t send it back under the Trade Descriptions Act and also that I had an awful lot of roast potatoes to eat.

Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve never actually thought of roast potatoes as being something you roast (halfway through this sentence and already I’m beginning to think yes, yes it is just me) but rather as something you cook TO GO WITH a roast. I’ve certainly never had roast potatoes except as an accompaniment to a roasted something else. (And now, like those moments when you look at something with fresh eyes, or say the same word so often it begins to sound strange, I find myself wondering what on earth ‘roasted’ even means.)

So anyway, the upshot of all that is that come Christmas Day, although I can’t see us squeezing the duck into the air fryer I CAN see us having a lot of roasted vegetables to go with it.

Merry Crisp-ness.  

Advent #6

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Childhood, Christmas, Family

In a different life I might have been a farmer or a blacksmith. Well, possibly…

Those were the trades of my two grandfathers, so perhaps I might have taken after one or the other of them? In truth I can’t believe I would have suited either profession – not just because of the mess, but because I don’t have that generation’s stoic nature.

My Uncle recently regaled us with a ‘new’ anecdote of Grandpa Curnow, who one night had a rat suddenly jump inside his welly. During the time which, if it had been me, would have been taken up with rushing about and screaming, Grandpa reasoned that the best way to not antagonise the rat, and so avoid getting bitten, was just to wait patiently for the rat to vacate the boot of its own accord.

No less calm in a crisis was Grandpa Pearce. One Christmas years ago – not Christmas Day itself, but during the week from Christmas to New Year – the boy from next door came round to politely ask, did we know our chimney was on fire?

We didn’t – but thus apprised of the fact, Grandpa fetched a pillow and stuck it up the chimney. That, as far as I recall, was that; and certainly his lack of fuss or panic meant that none of us felt the need to evacuate, assembling outside by the potting shed for Gran to check the register.

I can’t honestly picture myself in either of those scenarios, nor in the field or at the forge. I have, though I’ve never asked him, a suspicion that my brother might have been more suited to it. I can certainly vouch for his own calm fire-extinguishing skills on at least one occasion.

He’s turned out to be a bloody good Grandpa too.

Advent #5

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, TV

One thing I’m looking forward to this Christmas, unusually, is watching The King’s Speech. You may think I mean to misunderstand for comic effect, deliberately confusing it with the film of the same name and spending the whole ten minutes saying things like “When does Helena Bonham-Carter show up?” and “That’s wrong, they didn’t have push button telephones in 1936.” But no, for once it’s genuine interest in watching the genuine speech from the, well, genuine King.

It’s a bit like the hordes of extra millions who tune in for the first episode with a new Doctor Who – not that I want to offend anybody by equating the accession of a monarch with the casting of a TV show, that might be a flippant comment too far and get me sent to the Tower of London (or the Tower of Rassilon, these Doctor Who fans can be a pretty militant bunch).

I know that, factually, there were Christmas Day broadcasts by monarchs before Queen Elizabeth – but in terms of it becoming a fixture, an absolutely fundamental part of Christmas Day for millions, that happened during her reign. So to see ‘somebody new’ doing it will be… Well, I don’t know what it’ll be. (Hence the curiosity.)

I guess this first speech sort of writes itself – it’ll be part reflection on the reign of the late Queen, part reinforcement of the continuation and continuity of the monarchy. But in terms of how the King will deliver it, how he will come across, the impression he’ll make… We don’t know. And so I’m genuinely interested to watch it, for once.

Will he be behind his desk? Out in his gardens? Will he try for a more informal approach? And, most intriguingly, will he wear the long multi-coloured scarf?