Advent #21

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in 1970s, Childhood, Christmas, Family, Moaning

I’m happy to have been a child of the seventies, but there are a few areas where I’m not sure it properly prepared me for adulthood. It vastly overstressed, for example, how prominent quicksand and rattle snakes were going to be in my future, while at the same time vastly underplaying one of the great scourges of modern life: finding somewhere to park.

That concern is, for example, why I got to the cinema so early to see The Force Awakens; and although in general terms our recent shopping trip to Exeter went off OK, there was a very tetchy half hour stuck in the queue for the car park. Anybody who’s parked in Exeter’s Guildhall car park will know that its entrance is up a steeply curved concrete slope, so there was an awful lot of irritable faffing about with handbrakes, biting points, and the like. (Anybody who HASN’T parked in Exeter’s Guildhall car park – don’t!)

Given what I now know, it may be that when Mum refers to one far-past Christmas shopping trip to Plymouth as ‘not the best of days’ it was due to a parking fracas between her and Dad – Dad, as a rule, being the designated driver throughout my seventies-based youth.

During particularly long journeys, I can remember sometimes stirring in the back seat just long enough to be reassured by his face caught in the glow of the streetlamps. But I also (only very occasionally of course!) recall him being a bit short-tempered while looking for somewhere to park.

Hopefully he won’t mind me saying that – or if he does, hopefully he’ll have got over it by Saturday afternoon when we’ll be driving down to see him and Mum, where there will be presents, plenty of food and, I would hope, ample parking. 

Advent #20

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, Little Bit Of Politics, Money

It’s probably not many people’s first thought when talking about Christmas songs but Band Aid’s Do They Know It’s Christmas? always gets some airplay during December, which presumably means a bit more money raised. Although there’s a debate to be had about whether giving to charities lets the government off the hook, the fact is that there always seems to be a need for them.

This year, Crisis is running an anti-homeless campaign. I was faintly aware of it blurring past while fast-forwarding through some TV adverts, but when my colleague at work switched radio stations I heard the full version and was immediately intrigued by the donation being asked for.

Likely, any random number would have got my attention (£18.37 or £21.64, just to pick two at, um, random) but in fact it’s £29.06 which (less the pound sign) is my birthday! In terms of targeted advertising it could only have been bettered by a voiceover saying, “Stop speeding through the bloody ads, this is important!”

I’m fortunate enough never to have answered “no” to the question, “Did Father Christmas come?”; and to have never been hungry at Christmas. (Quite the opposite – even a trim, sylph-waisted figure like me gets into that groove where you keep automatically putting food in your mouth, like a Pez dispenser stuck in reverse.) And I’m lucky enough never to have been homeless.

Maybe we’re more inclined to give at this time of year. During the run up to Christmas anyway, when we spend 24 days wishing the best to everyone (before hunkering down and wanting the real world to leave us alone for a few days). Maybe it’s better to give than to receive.

Or maybe, as Mike Smash and Dave Nice have been telling us for almost 30 years – Christmas IS charity.  

Advent #19

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Childhood, Christmas

Distracted by yesterday’s talk of what I DIDN’T do last year I’d quite overlooked what I DID do,  SIX years ago. Which was, I went to see The Force Awakens!

The previous six Star Wars films had premiered in May, but presumably the consistent December success of the Lord of the Rings/Hobbit trilogies prompted Disney to view Christmas as a more appropriate time (by which I mean, cha-ching!).

Those six Tolkien blockbusters almost entirely passed me by, except for the first of The Hobbits; my daughter saw it on a school trip, and because she said how good it was we all went to watch it. I fell asleep twice and it still felt like the longest film I’d ever seen.

When I got to the cinema for The Force Awakens there was already one other guy there. He was in the middle seat of the middle row, sans refreshments, feet planted square on the floor, and eyes fixed firmly on the screen. Very clearly, he wasn’t there for the popcorn but for the very serious business of watching a film.

Five minutes before curtain up, by which time the room was almost full, a family moved into the row in front of us: Granny, Dad… and a toddler. I suspect that serious guy’s heart sank at the thought of his long-anticipated first viewing of a brand new Star Wars film being ruined by high-pitched interruptions of “who’s that?” and “she’s scary” and “b****rd’s killed Han Solo!” from this little kid.

Bless her, the little girl was silent throughout. Probably, just as I had been as a child, she was transfixed by the wondrous spectacle of a Star Wars movie. A little Christmas miracle.

Or possibly she’d spent the whole film doing what I’d done during The Hobbit.

(Twice!)

Advent #18

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, Little Bit Of Politics

I don’t know exactly what I was doing twelve months ago but (brace yourself for some hard-hitting satire) I certainly wasn’t at a party!

The ‘Downing Street party’ story was a real cause celebre just two weeks ago (by the Wednesday lunchtime my work colleague was so fed up hearing about it, he changed the radio station in the office – that’s how celebre it was). If I was tremendously cynical I’d suggest it was sidelined by Boris conveniently deciding to make a special Strictly-interrupting Prime Ministerial Covid broadcast, even though the daily press conferences would have been perfectly adequate. (Thank goodness I’m not tremendously cynical.)

“We didn’t have one” quickly became “it wasn’t a party” – but to me, if you’re reclassifying it as ‘an impromptu gathering after work’ or insisting the regulations weren’t enforceable on Crown Land (insert Harry Hill shrugging baffled to camera here) then there clearly WAS a party but you’ve got a list of mealy-mouthed excuses to prove why, on paper, you’ve not done anything wrong.

There’s lots to unpack (although luckily for my blood pressure, it’s more than you can cover in 300 words): the bizarre hedonistic sense that it’s an affront to your basic human rights NOT to have a Christmas Party; the selfishness of not caring about the risks; the utter stupidity to think that in this day and age nobody will find out; and worst of all the arrogance to decide your own rules don’t apply to you.

That’s where my frustrated outrage at this story comes from – it’s certainly not that I feel I’ve somehow missed out by stupidly following the rules. As far as that’s concerned I confess I’ve never understood the appeal of these sorts of events, so in that sense I’m not an interested, um… party.   

Advent #17

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, TV

We watched the Never Mind The Buzzcocks Christmas special last night. It’s sorely missing Phill Jupitus but it’s still nice to have it back – and it certainly went out on a high, with Holly Johnson singing The Power of Love.

I love a Christmas Special. Hot on the heels of yesterday’s Buzzcocks, tonight we’ve been Mock-ing the Week, which was in turn followed by a trailer for next week’s QI! Happy Days, as they say.

What I don’t like so much are programmes that rub along perfectly well during the year with normal people thank you very much, but for some reason feel the need to bring in ‘celebs’ at Christmas.

So I’m talking Christmas Bake-Offs/Sewing Bees/etc. The appeal of them, usually, is ordinary people doing extraordinary things – there’s something lacking, even a bit pointless, seeing celebs faffing about.

In the case of Sewing Bee one of last Christmas’s celebrity contestants, Sara Pascoe, has subsequently been cast as the new host – so I suppose I can let her off (in a “tax deductible” kind of way) by claiming last year as an audition, rather than just aimless messing around.

In fact, also working very much in her favour, I remember one evening last Christmas we stumbled upon a recording of her stand-up show on some channel or other – it was very, very, very funny (but also very, very, very rude).

I’m old enough to remember when female comedians were the exception (although we’re talking Joyce Grenfell and Victoria Wood, so they were extraordinary exceptions!) whereas nowadays there are lots of them, Sara P being one of the best (Maisie Adam is another). And it’s great to see them becoming more and more well-known, appearing more and more on TV…

…Just not in ‘Celebrity Specials’! Please!!  

Advent #16

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in 1970s, Childhood, Christmas, Family

At the risk of prompting an intervention into how my mind works, whenever I see a staple remover I think of my youngest Uncle – because the first one I ever saw was the bright green one he gave Dad for Christmas in the late seventies.

Throughout my youth he would often randomly pop up, bestowing on us his collection of Beano comics; watching an episode of Blakes 7 with us; or even borrowing my copy of Life, The Universe and Everything (a story for another time).

This makes perfect sense when I point out that, although my Mum has been to Australia (another story for another time) she’d certainly agree that Uncle T is by far the most travelled person in our family, and inbetween all that random popping up he was generally off exploring some far-flung corner of the globe. From one such trip, possibly another Christmas present, he brought back wallets for me and bruv – made from the hide of a yak (or something of that ilk (or elk)) four decades on they remain the second most stinky thing I’ve ever encountered.

By chance, and rather proving my point, we received a ‘round robin’ from him just this week in the fourth paragraph of which, and in the same tone that the rest of us might use for saying “and that was the year we had goose instead of turkey” he recalls that he spent Christmas Day 1981 crossing a river from India to Nepal on a double-decker bus ferried by two boats lashed together!

Oddly, he doesn’t also mention trekking halfway up the foothills of the Himalayas to a tiny Tibetan stationers to purchase Dad a staple remover. Probably an oversight when he was putting his letter together. (Or maybe it’s a story for another time.)  

Advent #15

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in 1970s, 1980s, Childhood, Christmas, TV

Although I remain cynical about “must have” presents I’m aware there are fads, gifts which are all the rage one moment and forgotten the next. The hula hoop, the fidget spinner… Or what about those whistling keyrings, which did exactly what it said on the tin: you’d whistle, and the keyring would whistle back to tell you where your keys were. I can’t recall ever losing my keys to be honest, but I’d happily buy a whistling remote control – we’re forever misplacing ours down the side of the sofa or underneath a dog.

One fad which baffles me though, and which is still hanging around, is the scented candle.

As a child of the 70s & 80s I’ve sat through plenty of power cuts. The last big one I can remember was over Christmas/New Year 85/86 when we’d all gathered round the TV and the continuity announcer had got as far as “and now, Last of the Summer Wine” before everything went off. (Meaning we missed the disappointing debut of Seymour, Foggy’s replacement, although I’m reluctant to label it a failure given that the show ran for another 24 years.)

During all those power cuts I don’t recall anybody ever venturing the opinion that the whole experience would be made much more pleasant if only the candles smelled nice! We never once prayed for a hint of sandalwood or lavender to help us through the ordeal.

One area in which the candle could stand some improving (although maybe not so much now with the advent of the phone torch?) is that the one time you need them is the very time it’s too damn dark to find them.

Hmm.

I wonder, do you think Dragons Den might be interested in an idea for whistling candles I’ve just had…?

Advent #14

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Christmas, Work

The weeks leading up to Christmas are a mixed bag at work. On the one hand, there’s the temptation to slip into ‘wind-down’ mode, the grown-up equivalent of bringing in games and eating jelly. But there’s also the big push to get everything finished up properly before the break.

One of my usual December jobs is to put together a leaflet to all our customers wishing them a Merry Christmas – although since it’s sent out with the latest round of bills, there’s arguably a bit of mixed messaging going on. (There’s also some info on tractors we have for sale in case anybody gets some money for Christmas and doesn’t know what to spend it on).

My artistic style (if you’ll allow me to use both those words incorrectly) tends to the ‘less is more’ school, so this year’s first stab only stretched as far as three pale-looking Christmas trees and the outline of a sledge.

After a first review my boss managed to haggle me into a flurry of snowflake silhouettes. I can’t really see her living in fear of me having an easily-offended artistic temperament, so there’s no real reason for the softly-softly approach – but only after several drafts was there the tactful observation that although silhouettes may be arty the style is perhaps better suited to Halloween than Christmas.

In other words, the brief was to “tinsel it up” – which I now have, adding a green tree, bright red, blue and gold baubles, a pile of presents, and to top it off strings of paper-chains above the company logo. I think the negotiations are almost finished now (bar the possible addition of a couple of twinkling stars and perhaps a snowman in the morning).

I hope so – then I can get back to the Ker-Plunk tournament…  

Advent #13

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in 1970s, Christmas, Doctor Who, TV

(This post has been rated ‘GEEK’ for Doctor Who content.)

After last year’s understandable absence, I’m pleased to report that there’s once again a new Doctor Who blu-ray set on my Christmas list, and this time it’s 1979’s season seventeen. The claim is often made that Doctor Who is always best when you’re eight – and I was eight in 1979 and Doctor Who has never been better, so that all checks out.

The impending boxset contains all five transmitted stories, plus yet another version of Shada, the one that got away, which over the past 40 years has gone from being the most missing of stories, to a story you bump into at every turn. (Needless to say, I’m stupidly excited at the prospect of yet another version of the thing!)

Beating off stiff competition from Daleks, Davros and giant green blobs, the best of the batch is City of Death, story two, ‘the one with all the Mona Lisas’. With the original script falling through, and with almost no time left before the cameras had to roll, for once the old Hollywood cliché of having to writing a new script overnight is pretty much accurate – and it fell to the poor script-editor to write a replacement four part story in just one weekend. It should have been a disaster…


Except that, as it happened, the script-editor that year was one Douglas Adams just before becoming incredibly famous (and rich) as the author of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy (so I suppose working on Doctor Who was his last ‘proper’ job). Meaning that not only did he do it on time, he also in the process wrote quite possibly the best Doctor Who story ever made.

I know, I know : highly, but not infinitely, improbable.

Advent #12

by andrewcurnow1971, posted in Childhood, Christmas, Family

In recent years, we seem to have started measuring the countdown to Christmas in sleeps – “only thirteen more sleeps till Christmas” radio DJs or TV presenters will say, for example. Obviously, when you get to my age you need to add a good 50% to that figure, as I often doze off for ten minutes or so after tea; but I realise that this would only confuse things, and anyway it isn’t really meant as a precise number of sleeps, only as a marker of how many nights (or, if you prefer, how many days) are left before Christmas Day.

I can still remember feeling that nervous, hyped-up excitement going to bed on Christmas Eve, the electric sense of anticipation more traditionally reserved for newlyweds. I can even remember lying there, wide awake and certain I’d never get to sleep… only for the next thing I know to be me waking up! Granted, my brother & I used to wake up VERY early – so it’s not impossible that with thirteen days to go till Christmas our parents would have marked that as “only twelve more sleeps” on the grounds that they’d be unlikely to get any on Christmas Eve.

(I’ve also heard, going off on a tangent for a moment, “better get to sleep so Father Christmas will come” which is surely confusing causation with correlation. But I digress.)

As an adult those sleeps come round very quickly, as the weeks and months (and heaven help us, the years) fly by. I suspect, though, that if I was still a child, and it was still only the twelfth of December, and there were a whole thirteen more sleeps to go before I would finally get a visit from Father Christmas–

I think by now I’d be tired of waiting!