A Tale of Two Countries

Happy Valentine’s Day, Everyone

Now that the Christmas tree has been relegated to the back patio, the New Year’s resolution (not to get p*ssed and pass out) has been broken (instantly), and I’ve removed the pine needles from my bra, lo and behold – it’s time for Valentine’s Day and Easter.

While sitting at my laptop this week, I received press releases urging readers to “give your sweetheart a liquid treat for Valentine’s Day” (the mind boggles) and similar. Meanwhile, Mini Eggs are on prominent display in my local Coop. The shelves may have been denuded of vegetables, bread and milk thanks to people panic-buying over an inch of snow here in Poohaven yesterday, but we can feast ourselves on a Cadburys Egg , Mini or Creme  variety  (nasty but nice), so that’s fine.

I really do despair - despite my media training which dictates that magazine features are produced months ahead, necessitating these early announcements of what we need for summer during winter. Thanks to media and retail requirements, we can’t even catch our breath, dispense with the ‘Big Freeze’ and take stock of the ‘tennies’ before being propelled full speed ahead into February (Valentine’s Day) and Easter (April).

I loathe Valentine’s Day. Give me Santa and baubles any day of the week compared to this poor excuse for florists to make a fortune while sickly couples paw at each other in restaurants during their consumption of treble-priced menus. Can’t we at least complete the January sales before being reminded of this dubious ‘occasion’ when we’re expected to pin our hearts on our sleeves?

In contrast, the Spanish had their ‘Three Kings’ celebration on January 6: a fiesta concluding the Christmas period when, traditionally, boiled sweets are thrown from floats to passing children. In Blighty, we’ve completely forgotten about Christmas by January 6 and are more likely to throw the Mini Eggs or a Valentine’s bouquet.

On the other hand, I’ve just seen a TV advert from PC World which says a certain gadget is “perfect for Dad watching the Christmas movie”. PC Woe is a tad behind on withdrawing this ad – unless they mean “perfect for Christmas 2010” which, methinks, is quite possible these days.

At the same time last year, I contributed towards a (yet unpublished) book called ‘The Akenside Syndrome’, which examined ex-Geordies’ tendency to be footloose and unsettled. Well, that’s me all over but it’s hardly surprising to feel that way when you consider the ‘churn’ here in Blighty: I don’t especially want to be rooted to it anyway. There’s never time to let the dust settle. If you do let it settle, it’s the wrong type of dust – snow to be precise – and too much of it has settled, so now Blighty is at a standstill. Ah well, the endless TV reports about ‘The Big Freeze’ give people something to focus on, other than the old stalwarts of The Downturn and The Pork Flu. We should all be grateful, I suppose. Apart from the people stuck at Gatwick Airport who are trying to escape Blighty but are, instead, sleeping on cardboard boxes with space blankets for cover and wondering why there are only two snow ploughs. Happy Valentine’s Day to you too!

Anti-social media heralds a grumpy New Year

I was reading the ‘Grumpy Old Women’ official handbook by Judith Holder on Christmas Day (thanks to my partner in crime, Jules, for this thoughtful gift) and, I must say, I can relate to its contents. However, although I’m awfully fond of my condiments and voucher codes, the middle-aged spread is a way off yet and I’m certainly not menopausal. Thank god for small mercies.

I found the section about Christmas especially amusing – in that women (I hesitate to use the word “housewives”) are expected to produce a ‘perfect day’ with Chrissy dinner served in its Delia-like splendour. And that turkey and cranberry is just a posh version of chicken and jam but everyone fusses over it for weeks on end (before burning it on the day, as they’ve consumed too much sherry). And then Christmas Day is over much quicker than it came and we’re expected to push our way through the Next sale on Boxing Day (yes, I admit to engaging in this activity) to bag a few bargains we convince ourselves we require. Actually, I was rather impressed with my sale purchases but I could probably have lived without ‘em. But we must help the recession, you know.

But now that the baubles and chains of Christmas are nearing the end of their commission and recession-busting consumers are raiding the January sales with enthusiasm, it’s time for the UK media to start dishing out its latest dose of doom to make us put our purses back in our pockets again. According to various commentators on 'The Guardian' online, UK house prices are set to fall in 2010 – possibly by up to 15% - and we may be heading for the dreaded Double Dip recession. Additional tidings of good cheer include predictions that consumers will stop spending as interest rates rise and Sterling will take another battering against other currencies, such as the Euro, during 2010 because there’s currently no proper plan for tackling the public sector debt. This, of course, is unwelcome news for expats who earn their dinero in the UK but live in Spain.

Well, 2010 is clearly shaping up nicely. I can’t wait! You can always rely on the UK media to publish some pole-axing negativity - whether it’s the 2009 obsession with Pork Flu (I haven’t personally witnessed anybody with this affliction in either the north or south of England) or the Double Dip Dooms. Nobody really knows what will happen with the damn UK downturn so why bother printing material that depresses us when we are feeling fat / fragile / faint / fun-deprived (delete as appropriate) after the festive season? Personally speaking, I have no intention of spending the deep midwinter wallowing in doom and wondering if houses in the south of England will ever cost £70k again.

It’s unsurprising that we Brits can maintain such a chilly (frigid) state of mind when you consider the recent UK weather. While Malaga has been basking in temperatures of around 20C (OK, so there have been major floods and landslides in Andalucia), Blighty is anticipating another Big Freeze. No doubt the gritters will fail to keep the transport network moving and everything will grind to a halt again. Perhaps there isn’t enough salt stashed away, because it is so hard to source? Yours truly is already concerned about a domestic flight booked for 6am on New Year’s Eve: if the Frozen North of England is truly frozen, the plane will never leave the tarmac. However, being stuck in the grandparental home for NYE, where consuming more than two glasses of vino is frowned upon, couldn’t be as bad as the fate that befell a friend who knocked out his teeth on an icy pavement just before Christmas (“all I want for Christmas is my two front teeth" – hah hah). I can’t help wondering if some of the people with broken limbs and missing teeth attending the country’s A&E departments selected their usual slippery-soled shoes for a foray on to the skating rink (aka the pavement). Perhaps I’m being overly scathing here: they wore their finest Wellington boots but fell over anyway because walking far on ice is almost as tricky as ‘Dancing on Ice’.

Speaking of which, there’s no business like snow business... or show business... and on the showbiz front, I was amused to see that anarchic LA rock band, Rage Against the Machine, knocked Simon Cowell’s squeaky-clean X-Factor prodigy, Joe McElderry, off the Christmas number one slot after 500,000 Facebook and Twitter users downloaded the expletive-laden rock tune, ‘Killing in the Name’. That’s not a very festive theme, is it?  It has a healthy dose of irony and was considered awful by my Mum, who likes sickly ballads from 18 year olds and thinks they should, indeed, reach pole position. Enough said!

Undoubtedly, the social media ‘beat the system’ achievement of the Christmas number one campaign highlights the power of Facebook these days. As well as obsessing some of my mates to the point where they interact with it (for want of a better word) for 8-10 hours daily, Facebook is being cited in one of five UK divorce cases. This backs up what I said in my last entry: that social media is becoming anti-social. Just to recap, most people don’t really want hubby/wifey or boyfriend/girlfriend furtively chatting up hot chicks/guys from their friend list or trying to bag a ‘fresh one’ for the New Year. One of my female friends recently experienced a colleague declaring his undying love publicly on Facebook when full of Christmas beer. This isn’t terribly stylish. And it probably upset his ex trouble and strife as well.

Where will it all end, I wonder? Instead of going out to see friends in person – and to visit pubs, eateries and nightclubs for fun - the Double Dipped Brits will stay at home having cyber-relationships and saving a few quid on drinks, while avoiding the icy pavements and the risk of broken ankles and teeth. Perhaps we can attend ‘silent discos’ and speed dating events online and have special cyber-sex suits so we never need leave the house to interact with potential partners. It's probably already happening somehow, somewhere... we’ll all be doing it by 2011, mark my words.

What season are we anyway?

You can forgive a person for becoming a tad confused about the seasons of the year, bearing in mind that I recently departed 31 degree sunshine in Spain (with the odd stormy day in between) and suddenly found myself immersed in the grey skies and persistent rain of the East Sussex environs. As I’ve said before, adjustment from wearing spaghetti-strapped tops to the imminent prospect of smothering oneself in scarves and wool tights to keep the chill at bay isn’t an instant process. In Blighty, we have the slight compensation of carbohydrate-heavy food to generate warmth (what on earth possessed me to eat that reconstituted Bernard Matthews turkey escalope last night – sheesh) but, even after a portion of cod and chips with curry sauce this evening, the drizzle and dark makes me feel like curling up under the duvet.

At the weekend, just when I was getting used to the idea of venturing outside into the greyness for “fun”, Halloween was upon us and the bus from Poohaven to Brighton was full of freakish characters wearing dodgy green make-up and outfits the cast of Rocky Horror would reject. In Brighton centre, two ill-advised girls were striding around in Anne Summers basques and knickers, and nothing else. They were being openly giggled at by the assembled people in the off license and the taxi rank. One girl was unsuccessfully trying to hide her bottom behind a bottle of wine. “Why didn’t she put a coat on,” I muttered grimly. Don’t get me wrong: I’m no prude but chilled meat on display isn’t especially enticing.

Halloween night progressed with a great party in Hove, which was spoilt only by disgorging on to the seafront the next morning to find that the driving rain and wind were battering anyone who ventured outside (this drew a few wails of annoyance en route home). In fact, it was monstrous – the weather, I mean.

OK, so we’ve finished with Halloween now and Bonfire Night is swiftly upon us. We can focus on the prospect of fireworks while wondering if the bonfires will be rained off tomorrow night.

Or can we?

Here in Blighty, people are “doing winter” now, for sure. In fact, they are doing Christmas. Argh! I’ve already had one rant on the topic of Christmas coming early and now I’ll indulge myself in another.

Come on now... why can’t we experience one seasonal occasion at a time?  These days, we’re not allowed to do them in date order. On the BBC News last night, a policewoman was beseeching a runaway 30 year old man to contact his family. “Please give them the best Christmas present they could want,” she said. But... errrr... it’s not time for a Christmas present yet. What’s wrong with a bonfire night surprise? Do the police really want him to remain incommunicado for another seven weeks and then climb down the chimney on December 24? This broadcast was followed by a plethora of TV adverts for festive ‘delights’, ranging from party outfits at George at ASDA to a variety of pre-Christmas sales at major stores. Sigh. And that’s not all. This evening, after rescuing my son’s stroller from the car-crushing company in Hailsham that cubed my poor Passat (and, yes, I saw the stripped-off vehicle parts they were selling for profit – grrrr), I ventured into the nearby branch of Argos to check out kids’ bedding. Ah but what’s the piped muzak playing in the background? On no! It’s our worst musical nightmare: namely Cliff Richard with his, err, festive classic ‘Mistletoe and Wine’. Come on guys... do we really need to be force-fed our maiden Aunt’s favourite Christmas tune before the sparklers have even been burnt tomorrow night? It was enough to send me scuttling out of the store without buying anything.

In Spain, we were having a burst of late summer in late October / early November. Meanwhile, here in Britain, we’re firmly in Christmas mode. Culture shock abounds. Perhaps I should wear a Santa hat tomorrow night and take a turkey with me so I can insist on cooking it on the bonfire? Maybe it will help rectify my seasonal adjustment issues? Or perhaps I should go out dressed as a scantily-clad Sun Goddess and roast my exposed bottom on the bonfire? Just fooling – I’d rather remain safely beside my radiator with my trousers in place, thank you very much.

Sh*tmass is coming (uh oh!) but we’re still getting hot

Well, we’ve made it to the second half of August before Christmas (aka Dreadmass or Sh*tmass if I’m feeling less than polite) has reared its ugly and unseasonal head on UKPress, the forum for UK media folk. I heard that Harrods has recently launched a Xmas shop aimed at tourists visiting London (god help them) and now we’ve got people asking where you can buy yellow Santa hats. Yes, that’s right: Santa hats the colour of urine.

It’s hard to take Sh*tmass in the UK seriously when I’m staring out of an amigo's window at the Sierra de Lujar (pictured opposite) baking in the 30 degree sunshine but I’m sure it won’t be long until bikini-clad expats are being force-fed UK commercials via their Sky TV installations, telling them that “this Christmas, you need a new kitchen / bathroom / set of fancy tableware / expensive electronic gadget for your kids, who would rather play with the box, etc. Argh! At least here in Andalucia, the Motril Alcampo (equivalent of ASDA) consigns its Dreadmass produce to a reasonably tasteful and demure aisle of baubles and affordable trees launched in about November. I can live with that. Venture into ASDA in Blighty, however, and the baubles and tinsel are placed in a prominent position the second that the barbeques and gazebos are whipped off the shelves in late August. It’s bad enough that Brits must survive a damp squib of a summer without having a deluge of Christmas tat inflicted on them before the autumn drizzle has even had a chance to begin in earnest.

The clouds that have recently gathered over the Sierra Nevada of an afternoon, combined with  today's media talk about unseasonal goings-on, is causing further dwellings on the not entirely welcome Return to Blighty, which is less than eight weeks away. Argh! My therapist thinks it pays to "make the best of everything" and weigh up the pros and cons. Time for a list:

Things I Miss About Blighty:

• Sunday roast dinner in the pub
• Fish and chips
• Decent take away curry
• M&S
• Kids’ play parks which aren’t inherently unsafe and/or decrepit
• TV on demand services (such as 4oD) that isn’t blocked outside the UK
• Central heating when it’s actually cold

And...

Things I Really Don’t Miss About Blighty

• If you take your kids to the supermarket after 8pm because you’ve been working in the daytime and now require groceries for dinner, people stare at you.
• If you take your kids out anywhere in the evening, someone might actually call social services.
• Not being allowed in bars with the kids – even quiet cafe bars in the afternoon to obtain a civilised, sit-down meal – because of licensing laws.
• Traffic jams
• The M25
• Speed cameras and parking fines
• The proliferation of Starbucks and Costa coffee houses
• Scruffy town centres full of shops selling sportswear, trainers and mobile phones (yes, Brighton, I mean you).
• Inadequate refuse collection, despite paying loadsa Council Tax for this service.

Oh I could bang on endlessly and start sounding like someone off 'grumpy old women'... perhaps I’d better shut up now.

I suppose the focus on ‘Unseasonal Sh*tmass’ takes UK citizens’ minds off the oft-mentioned recession, Pork Flu and what’s going on in Afghanistan. But then there’s the dubious ‘delights’ of Halloween (Stateside-imported ‘Shalloween’) to experience first. Not forgetting rainy August and September spent in anticipation of an ‘Indian summer’, defined as a period when temperatures exceed 21 degrees for seven days after the autumn equinox - i.e. 22 September, 2009. My money is on it not happening. That said, methinks its best not to abandon the barbeque and gazebo just yet as there’ll be plenty of time to play with those baubles later. Enjoy!