Advent #17

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in 1980s, Christmas

I really love a mug. (And I’m not just mentioning it for the benefit of anybody who has reached the “What can we buy that awkward bugger this year?” stage of proceedings.) I don’t collect them, it’s not like the joke about the guy who likes sausages; but unlike its more boring relation, the cup, the mug has a jolly, devil-may-care individuality.

When I was a kid I remember getting mugs with Easter Eggs in (a sort-of eggcup for a sort-of egg); nowadays of course the mug is often given gift-set status by being paired with socks. As it happens I love both mugs AND socks (of course I do) so it’s a win-win situation.

I seem to recall a strange phase in the late 80s where everybody had a mug tree containing the same set of mugs, cream-coloured with a pastel pink/orange flower painted on (I glimpsed a set just recently, in Sheila Ramsay’s house in Take The High Road circa 1989) – but apart from that, the expectation is that anybody with a cupboard of mugs will have lots of mugs all with different designs on.

Which is indeed the case here – where, to go back to my earlier claim that “I don’t collect them”, I don’t… BUT it is true to say we have got A LOT of mugs. We have long-since reached the point where my wife has had to move some out of primary cupboard one, and into one of the spare cupboards instead (and when I say ‘spare’ I mean we can’t use it, because it’s full of mugs).

I also have a strong suspicion their numbers are gradually being thinned out – I suspect she’s slowly giving them away, and she probably thinks I haven’t noticed.

But I have of course. I’m no mug. 

Advent #16

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Childhood, Christmas

It’s been very hard this week to hear the awful, awful story of the boys in the lake. Just the thought of them laughing and playing, enjoying the novelty and thrill of the snow and ice; for it to all change so horribly in a moment, is almost unbearable – and in as far as it could ever be worse, somehow it happening so close to Christmas makes it worse. Their families will have presents wrapped up and hidden away, there’ll be half-opened Advent calendars… Heartbreaking.

When I was in Primary School one of the boys in my class, and a friend of his, were swept away in the river. (I think, although it’s a long time ago, one of the storm drains overflowed.) He survived but his friend did not, and I have to admit that at school the next week we didn’t really believe him until our teacher confirmed it. It would be a lie to say I often think about it, but occasionally I do. I’ve certainly thought about it, and him, this week. This was 40 years ago so I’m not sure what if any sort of ‘counselling’ he would have got to deal with any potential trauma. I’m not sure we even thought in those terms back then.

I always feel, and how absolutely wrong I am, that once we get to ten days or so before Christmas, there’s some kind of exclusion zone, as if nothing can stop or interfere with it now. That’s not the case, clearly, because things can always change in an instant.

So if nothing else, I guess this week has reminded me to appreciate what I have.

Advent #15

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, Doctor Who, TV

Like my Uncle and his calendar, the BBC has also snuck a new Christmas tradition on us, and as the nights pull in and the advent windows open so the BBC Blu-Ray department has unleashed yet another Doctor Who boxset on the world.

This time round it’s 1964/65’s season two. Even with a couple of episodes having been carelessly chucked away in the intervening fifty-seven years, that’s still thirty-seven whole episodes to enjoy, starring William Hartnell as the very first Doctor. When I was a kid, the first Doctor was a bit of a rarity – all these years later, he’s been Hurndall-ed and Bradley-ed, but for my money the original is still the best.

Doctor Who’s early years often have huge ambition but tiny resources, but undaunted the production team in season two give us the Daleks invading the whole Earth (well, London and the Home Counties) and then an entirely studio-bound alien world inhabited by giant talking butterflies and huge lumbering ants.

To the modern eye it’s obvious that the two oversized middle legs on the ants are the actors’ own, sticking out of what looks and sounds like a very plastic-y costume; and there’s probably no Doctor Who story before or since that requires more suspension of disbelief to enjoy. Through it all, not always sticking to the script but always sticking to the character, Hartnell bestrides the universe as THE Doctor, untroubled by even the remotest possibility that he could ever conceivably be replaced. To be fair, squaring up to Daleks, giant ants and, in the season finale, Carry On legend Peter Butterworth as an evil time traveller, he feels pretty irreplaceable.

Although the following year (spoiler warning for those who’ve not caught up yet) he bumps into the Cybermen at the North Pole and—

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.