Yuletide Pilferer, present

Homecoming Challenges

On my return from Cape Town in early September, I was informed that the keypad on our antiquated door entry system had become sticky. You could not guarantee getting the code in after an umpteenth number of tries before having to go around the back of the building to gain access to the apartment block.

Worse for me was being already pressed by the time I got to the door, promising myself that I only had a few more steps before I wet myself. Many an unfortunate mishap of bladder incontinence occurred as a personal event when you were close enough to home, before the public saw something amiss, without any knowledge of the backstory.

Temporary Solutions

The keypad will not be replaced, as the parts are impossible to reorder. Instead, we have a temporary fix, along with facial recognition entry systems installed at other entry points in the village. Our village consists of six residential apartment blocks.

Meanwhile, new closed-circuit television cameras with motion sensors have been installed in the foyers. There is a possibility that I have become the local Mr Bean, making faces and sticking my tongue out at the camera as it follows my every movement.

I have been tempted to jump around a bit until the mechanism just breaks. It is all recorded, and it is only a matter of time before my well-mannered mannerisms are published as the prankish exuberance of a lovely man.

The Porch Pirate Incident

We also had our own episode of a daring and returning porch pirate tailgating other residents or using subterfuge to gain access to our mailroom and making off with deliveries that could have been Christmas presents.

The resolution quality of the cameras is commendable. He, a well-spoken man with an Irish accent and dressed well enough to blend into the setting of our village community, had the sheer luck of being captured on camera and in the act.

Then the presents in his presence presented an opportunity, but his heretofore free Christmas presents lost him his freedom, as he was marked present before a magistrate and is presently resenting his luck in a police cell.

When you have a pretty face, you had better not resort to petty crime. Whatever other deeds are caught on camera might be shared on the village WhatsApp group that I joined long after everyone had had a good laugh at his expense. I was only a decade late to take my seat at the showing of the Yuletide Pilferer.

A Curmudgeon's Christmas Eve

Embracing Senior Status

You might be getting bored of the sexagenarian musings presented in my recent blogs. Well, this is about my own experience and how I am settling into this new age.

I wrote about getting the Senior Railcard yesterday, which offers a 33% discount on train fares in the UK. My plan was to find out the real-life experience of showing my ticket to a train conductor and being asked to produce the railcard that gave me the entitlement.

A Lazy Christmas Eve

However, Christmas Eve started as a rather lazy day. By the time I finally got out of bed and boarded a train to Liverpool, it was well into the afternoon. My Senior Railcard secured me a 34.29% discount on the day return ticket.

There was no ticket inspection on either my outward or return journey, though I spent about 90 minutes in Liverpool, walking through the Christmas markets to the Central Library, where I did a bit of study until the building closed early at 4:30 PM.

On the Christmas markets, like the one in Manchester, they are a poor imitation of the German ones: full of tat and gaudy overpriced goods. Whilst they might afford summery activities on a helter-skelter, a roller coaster, and a Ferris wheel, they might attract crowds, giving winter days a sense of liveliness, but they are at best eyesores. Frankly, one is not impressed.

Rail Service Disappointments

I did find that some long train journeys were cancelled, with the reason given that there was a lack of train crew. It makes you wonder who is in charge of personnel rotas and scheduling. The train conductors might already have bonked off, earning themselves a five-day Christmas weekend.

Public transport facilities will be closed for Christmas and Boxing Day in the UK. I might get on a train before the year ends, just for the pleasure of being officially recognised as a senior citizen. It feels strange, but that's the truth.

Essential Snobbery 101: Playing truant at The Scrooge School of Corporate Christmas

The Spectre of Christmas Parties

Christmas parties are a genre I would rather not be part of, having attended two such events in the 1990s. Both were experiences I would prefer to forget, with recollections close to reliving a nightmare. Part of me would say I would never have been found in the company of those I was with, but for the circumstances enabling it.

In the first instance, we attended a tavern close to Tower Hill. It was themed as a medieval banquet, complete with all the excesses of drink and meat, along with the bawdiness that chose to disrespect the waitresses as part of the entertainment. My verdict: never again.

A Sobering Experience

Then, in a swanky hotel in the West End, when I moved to another company, the alcohol flowed freely. I had the unfortunate situation of being the only sober man, apart from the drivers, for probably ten miles.

I learnt a great deal from my colleagues that evening. The setting, I later discovered, served as the consummation of an illicit affair between married people. It was full-blown adultery, and I knew nothing about it at the time.

My manager, full of drink and many words, took to whispering in my ear about how much he liked me, the work I did, and many other things that would have left me more red-faced than a ripe beetroot. I kept what he said close to my chest. At least I knew I enjoyed a lot of favour and liking from my boss; for a contractor, it also meant someone was fighting your corner.

The Art of Absence

From then on, I mostly absented myself from such gatherings. I couldn't make it, I was on holiday, or I found an occupation that could pass for an excuse.

Three such parties came on my calendar this year. The first was an invitation to participants on a project we finally got over the line last month. They all came from the provinces into Manchester and totally went to town. After dinner, I was ready to go home whilst they were off to a pub and much else.

One of them was inviting others to a party at 4:30 AM. Even as a night-time insomniac, that was well past my bedtime. I was home just after 11:00 PM to take my medication and snuggle up in bed, not knowing that the paracetamol I needed to relieve a headache was bedside too.

Corporate Miserliness

The other, arranged by our management, was a thesis to the Ebenezer Scrooge School of Economics. We were required to bring items in to share when such a season of goodwill, where much was demanded of us outside our remit, should have elected for a spirit of generosity on the corporate AmEx card. I did not attend; I was on leave.

However, this year at work, and I enjoy what I do, has exposed me to characterisations of management that led me to freelancing for almost 30 years. The way the use of authority and status can gradually turn you into a misanthrope, as a product of both being patronised and dehumanised at the same time. It is probably a management technique.

A Genuine Gathering

Then, I have just returned from the restaurant where, as a volunteer to a Black men's support group, I was invited by the convenor to thank us for the support we give to the group. It was just five of us, but it was a very pleasant evening: no alcohol, sober talk, and more communal support for each other.

That will be the end of such parties for 2025. I do not, however, expect those who failed to perform to a standard befitting of their station to have improved. Hopefully, I will not have to be at the receiving end of another exemplification that would make Mr Scrooge proud of this generation of graduates.

Wishing you all a merry Christmas amongst those who care enough to show that they do. Enough said.

Anno Domini nostri Jesu Christi 2023-24

A course not corrected

I find it interesting that my blogging process has still not changed 20 years and a month since I started a blog. The last blog I wrote started on a different premise, I was thinking of writing about how the last year ended and the new began.

Then I guess rather than adopt a course correction based on original intent, I usually allow the organic flow to whatever reach and extent that blog veers to as I write. If this were a professional rather than a personal blog, I might need a bit more discipline by keeping my writing within the confines of the topic of my intent, yet the freeform has its uses.

It is like where would the mind take you to where imagination and imagery is given free rein, untrammelled by style, use, or expression? That is where Brian would suggest that some blogs I have written have sprung from just one word said in passing, the seed from which paragraphs and blogs become a harvest to publish.

Christmas and anniversaries

The highlight of Christmas Day was in the Sung Eucharist at Manchester Cathedral, which was televised and broadcast live, my seat inadvertently secured by the chief steward eventually gave me a bit of prominence at the gospel reading and at other times. To that, I can only say that since I have begun volunteering as a church steward, I have been more blessed in serving than I could have imagined. [BBC iPlayer: Christmas Morning Service from Manchester Cathedral]

It was quiet and reflective though made memorable by the insistence of my neighbours who persuaded me to join them for a late evening of festivities. Brian and I marked the 5^th anniversary of my relationship in the same week as I began to think of what I needed to do to usher in the New Year.

However, there was another Sunday to face where I was scheduled to give the first reading at church, the Sunday falling on New Year’s Eve. I was given a reading from the Book of Isaiah to review only to find out as I checked the lectern before the service that the reading had been changed to a New Testament reading from Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians. The passage was familiar enough, I only had to deal with the dread of hearing my voice amplified. Apparently, the cadence and my voice were good.

An elderly fellowship into 2024

Having received a text message from a charismatic church I attended in the summer; usually an evening service rather than the main one, they were having a New Year’s Eve service to see in the New Year and without priced tickets too.

I must have been the only guest in the congregation as everyone else seemed to know each other. I was welcomed by many and held in conversation with some who took more than a cursory interest. I was also acknowledged as an elder, I guess I have not helped my youthful cause by the use of a walking cane, though my facial features might belie some passage of time.

We had a diverse buffet before the praise, worship, and prayer session ushering in the year 2024. It was a blessing to find such a company of saints to fellowship with. 2024 has begun in earnest and before us is the opportunity to write new stories.

A Merry Christmas noted

By fate we were late

We entered Christmas slightly in a demur and sober mood, crashing out the night before in the living room, I on the so-called sofa-bad hewn out of rock that each shift was a creak in body ache allegro, you would find more comfort in wincing. He on the rug that sheds its thread at peak alopecia, and I doubt it was any more comfortable, but when I woke up in the witching hour, I got both of us to the bedroom and the comfort of the bed.

The Christmas service had to be registered for as the church was only going to admit 250 worshippers due to Coronavirus precautions. It was to start at 10:00 AM and for all our early wakefulness and preparations, we arrived as they were finishing the processional hymn and found seats to the front left nave with a good view of the altar and the celebrants.

In the humanity of our frailties

The president was Reverend Michael Lapsley, whose storied life of priesthood and social justice activism included having both his hands blown off by a letter bomb sent to him by the Apartheid regime. The atmosphere was lively and solemn, the choir in full angelic voice especially for the Latin recitals.

The Sung Eucharist is quite conservative and traditional that when censer was filled, I thought of it as God’s shisha, for it smoked up like one was observing a full burnt offering, a sweet savour to the Lord as the Bible has usefully described that Old Testament sacrament. I could do without finding fault in things as the pamphlet had mean for meek in one of the carols and the Gospel was read from John when it indicated Luke, the Latin for heavens is Caeli, but it had Coeli, amongst other things.

At the end of the service, we posed for some pictures before stepping out to greet the ministers, going to breakfast, crowd watching at V&A Waterfront before returning home for Christmas dinner. It has been a wonderful and beautiful day; I hope you all had a beautiful merry Christmas.

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Christmas eve even event

Closing close

The day was easy, nothing planned just a few things to do, only to find that many shops had already closed early for the day, Christmas Eve being a bit more special this time. We cannot have a midnight service because of a curfew due to the pandemic, so, it will be happening in the evening, though we are not attending.

One food shop will be closed until the 5^th of January, I guess they decided to have a holiday. By the time we visited the main supermarkets in town, they had closed, and it was only 5 o’clock. There was no other choice but to go to the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront where the shops at least stayed open another couple of hours.

Knowing nose

On my unaided and slow walk there, I met my 10,000-step quota and found some inspiration I hope would be pleasant. Windbreakers or breakers of the wind give scent to the air, and with that, we at least know we have not lost our sense of smell if we are not regaling with the wafting glories of flowers or culinary expertise.

We might just make Christmas a wonderful time, we did not get all we wanted but what we got will suffice with a bit of improvisation and the proficiency of some kitchen literacy. Have yourselves a very merry Christmas and we look towards better ones ahead.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXI

Angst or anger

During the waking hours of this morning, I wondered what would happen to my city and the wider region of Greater Manchester after the national lockdown ends on the 2^nd of December. I had hoped that we would have the opportunity of moving into Tier 2 with a slight relaxation of restrictions.

Looking at the numbers and the expectations, I realised that we were probably going to be Tier 3, the very high alert tier with the restrictions we have been under since July will remain with further limitations to our way of life. [GOV.UK: Local restriction tiers: what you need to know]

It is not that much has changed for me apart from not being able to attend church, my walking exercises continue in earnest. The people I see daily are as pleasant and communicative as you go about our activities.

Guided by the blind

The shops for essentials remain open and though I do not see that many people around, the roads into town still have considerable traffic like life continues to some extent. More importantly, I needed to know whether after the national lockdown I will be able to embark on international travel. Thankfully, there is no impediment to travel both for business and leisure.

Wondering why we still have high rates of infection in Greater Manchester even though the numbers are falling week on week, you could blame the unconcerned, inconsiderate and selfish people who have paid no heed to government guidance and warnings, if any of them were coherent, understandable, and effective.

I lay the responsibility of the mishandling of this pandemic squarely at the feet of the UK government, especially that part which oversees England. We have lost too many lives, the guidance has been patchy and the prospect of offering a window for Christmas will have dire consequences for those who fall for the gimmick and symbolism.

Other Christmases to come

Whilst, I do realise my going away will include Christmas and the New Year with my partner, in terms of meeting up with vulnerable people in England, the judgement calls should be simple, there can be many Christmases to come, there is no point making this the last Christmas for our loved ones if soon we might be safer with vaccines and a better understanding of the Coronavirus to see beyond the next Easter and years to come.

The conscious act on the part of everyone is the vigilance of 3-Cs, eschewing Crowds, avoiding Closed spaces and limiting close Contact, wearing masks indoors, and washing or sanitising hands. We would come through this, but individual responsibility with neighbourly consideration is what will help us get there. This pandemic is teaching us to be each other’s brother’s or sister’s keeper, with it comes the hope for a new kind of normal, probably much better than before.

Decade Blogs - Roundup III

I’m still here

We have just completed three weeks of my #YourBlogOnMyBlog Series, 21 blogs commemorating my Decade of Blogging. Each blog that I have reviewed, edited and written an introduction for has offered a showcase into stories told by people with a voice so unique, yet one we can all relate to.

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

I decided to stop taking blog contributions after I received 35 entries and I sent a personal message to the others who were not able to redeem their promises that it would have to be for another time, whilst thanking them for just considering and accepting the challenge.

Yet, I have managed to post four personal blogs on friendship, substandard drugs, Christmas greetings and journalistic diplomacy, I’m still here.

Then again

The theme that seems to define the third week is the significance of writing, in helping to understand our humanity. Veterans and new comers to blogging displaying talent and insight, I am so glad to share.

Here, for your pleasure are three weeks of Decade Blogs. To everyone who has honoured me in finding time to write for #YourBlogOnMyBlog, my thanks and more. I would find the words of appreciation and gratitude, eventually and they would still not be enough.

Decade Blogs – Week 3

Decade Blogs - Sira Sokari - Writing is the Liberator

Decade Blogs - Abubakar A. Musa - Challenging the humanity in us

Decade Blogs - Japheth J. Omojuwa - The Power of Purpose and Persistence

Decade Blogs - Mister Mobility - Not all those who wander are lost

Decade Blogs - Annie Emmanuel - Loyal To A Fault And Daring To Do

Decade Blogs - Akin Oyebode - How Will You Measure Your Life?

Decade Blogs - Ayo Oyalowo - What exactly are we looking for?

Decade Blogs – Week 2

Decade Blogs - Monike Charles-Binitie - Taking the leap

Decade Blogs - 'Seyi Shimoshi - On Faith, Fiction and Friendship

Decade Blogs - Raymond Inkabi - Ten Years Of Blogging

Decade Blogs - Blossom Nnodim - The Guardians of the Future

Decade Blogs - Pearl Ijeoma Ezeokeke - The Employer Atrocities of She

Decade Blogs - Ikhide R. Ikheloa - This life, London, tribes, and the Internet

Decade Blogs - Bisi Alimi - 10 Years of Blogging

Decade Blogs – Week 1

Blog - Decade Blogs - Babatunde Rosanwo - The Market‏

Blog - Decade Blogs - Waffarian - Just Another Day

Blog - Decade Blogs - Emeka John Okoye - Welding Relations

Blog - Decade Blogs - Chikere Ezeh - Exhuming Blogs of Old

Blog - Decade Blogs - Nkem Ivara - The Power Of Words

Blog - Decade Blogs - Tolu Oloruntoba - Royalties at the end of a river

Blog - Decade Blogs - Feyi Fawehinmi - Daddy 2.0

Christmas & New Year Greetings

This Christmas and beyond

Dear friends, acquaintances, well-wishers, fans, followers, people and you are many who have crossed my path and blessed me with your presence, engagement, conversation, interaction and much else.

May the joy of Christmas,
the story of happiness, wellness,
and peace be yours.

Let the New Year of 2014,
bring the fulfilment of dreams,
amazing adventure,
new experiences,
fun and laughter.

It has been a long year, and I have everything to be grateful for, old friends, new friends, new places, adventure, work plenty and work unavailable, in means and in little, being myself more and enjoying the things I do. I am blessed.

I have benefitted from such generosity that humbles me, in help, in encouragement, in kind, in love shown unconditionally, in kindness offered without reservation, you all have been the wind beneath my wings, you made me soar.

On Twitter, I gained over a third more followers and met new people, on Facebook, the banter ranged from levity to robust and serious, my blog reached a milestone, a decade of blogging.

I am five birthdays after a cancer diagnosis and my eye is not dimmed in the things I expect and hope for, there is a life to live out there and with as much strength as I have had, I have engaged in the pursuit of happiness with vigour.

I am thankful to God, yes, my beliefs do sustain me.

Thank you and here’s to a better year and future ahead of us.

Akin

My Christmas Carol

The throes of Christmas

As I walked to the road to visit my friend, I saw a lady, all well dressed with a small child in tow, it would have been sight to gladden my heart. I am always moved by the closeness of a child to its mother, the sense of safety, of protection, of assurance, of trust and of faith.

I did not see this, there was something wrong, the lady was so upset, she was on the phone bawling out inconsolably, I thought, there was a bereavement, my heart went out to her.

Then I saw the son, the poor child seemingly oblivious of why his mother was distressed and there I felt even more for the son as they walked as if directionless to some place non-descript.

The hurts of Christmas

Sadly, this was Christmas, the time of the year when we all sing songs of peace and goodwill to all men but in many families around the land, they gather and the deep-seated hurts; anger and bitterness come to the fore with emotions running wild with resentment and unresolved conflict.

It was family, mother, sister, and partner that had ganged up on this woman bringing her and her son to a state of despair that upset me much.

The memories of Christmas

Then in an instant, a number of Christmases past flashed before my eyes, the recent ones of plenty and much penury, of joy and sadness, of comfort and pain, of seclusion and adventure, it’s been a wonderful life.

It was terrifying and a sense of defiance consumed me as I remembered things I will rather not yet write about but are now at the tip of my tongue to say to those who were not there when it really mattered and now deign to interfere to order my steps after all that I have been through.

I have family and I have friends, the ones who have been closer than a brother that have kept me from reproach as loss and more loss compounded even more losses that I can no more count what is left.

The hopes dispelling the fears of Christmas

In all this, one still finds hope and encouragement, beyond the fear is courage to face things that will make the hearts of others faint because one should for the spirit of Christmas banish the haunting ghosts of Christmas past and find the joys of Christmas present.

It reminds me of a very poignant prayer my pastor prayed yesterday that had such great meaning, as I never thought before. The reason why many people hate Christmas is not so much because Christmas is horrid but because of the people with whom they are gathered to think of the birth of the Prince of Peace.

He prayed that a light of peace might radiate and dissolve the conflicts, the bitterness, the pain, the hurts and despairs to give way to what the joy of what Christmas is – it was powerful in what it meant to those it mattered to.

I end this just as Charles Dickens’ Christmas Carol comes to an end and with it I say to you, have a Merry Christmas and may the joy of Christmas be with you, your kith and kin.

Incredible India - We did Christmas and tried to party

Away in a manager

One has to give all kudos to Koenig Solutions for hastily arranging a Christmas party this afternoon considering a good number of us will be in India over the Christmas and New Year holidays.

In a Hindu majority country and possibly Hindu majority city along with the staff of Koenig Solutions, one can appreciate the involvement of everyone to help ease the nostalgia that is accentuated by being away at such a time from family, relations, friends and home.

The roof terrace was carpeted green, with white and pinkish-red curtains as cordons round the entire terrace, no, it was not nightclub ambience.

Good King Wenceslas

The party somewhat started before I got there with my new trainer, the compere who I think is probably one of the senior officials was introducing the main members of his team who were the technical managers and team leaders of the clusters of trainers for the courses the Koenig Solutions runs.

If anything, it was a wonderful showcase of the Indian talent that makes Koenig Solutions a high choice for the many who run the gauntlet of inscrutable visa application processes and endure with little commentary the conditions that yearn for some voices.

As I was opportuned to read on my Twitter time line yesterday; a good man does no good remaining silent when he should be talking – not that I will arrogate to myself any status than to make observations and offer suggestions.

O come all ye faithful

One cannot say the trainers were examples of public speaking nor were their comments representative of the expertise or underlying genius of their ability. If not shy, reticent and somewhat too stiff to join in the fun of the compere who seemed to have a rather good sense of fun and humour that made for some entertainment.

The disk jockey was a confused spell of discs with the music starting and stopping abruptly that it made for irritation that could draw the ire of plugging the plug and asking everyone to do nursery rhymes instead.

Drinks were served and the Santa Claus whose costume could do with a few well directed claws cut the cake with a knife I thought was a camp knife picked up as an afterthought.

God rest ye, merry gentlemen

Then we were invited to play games, at which point, farce was beckoning the farcical – the trainees were in an inner circle walking in a clockwise direction and the trainers on the outer circle walking in an anti-clockwise direction and as the music spluttered to a stop, the trainee and trainer were to give the first impressions of each other – I held my head in my hands.

O, for some inspiration; maybe some wisdom, surely, it could get no worse as a second and third round of walking left the partners misaligned. Maybe I should not forget the observation of another colleague for all he could see were 8 men holding hands – it was a game if you were there but a picture might just convey a different impression.

Once in royal David’s city

Then the floor was opened for dancing, everything from hip-hop through Bollywood music was thrown in with the expected segue of a DJ at hand.

Soon we were spared any more torture, the party ended not really having been a party in a general sense but at least it offered a time for us to let down our hair – What am I talking about? I have none.

So, there was our Christmas party and I would generously not rate it apart from say it gets full marks for good intentions and some cake.

Thank you, Koenig Solutions for bringing Bethlehem to New Delhi.

Thought Picnic: Releasing lovers gone to rest

Getting away late

The last train to somewhere a long way from home the journey began like that of ages ago but thankfully there was room at the inn.

The arrival will be late and they already know the eccentric and very particular guest will arrive at just the eleventh hour.

The Christmas tree stands alone in a corner, acquired for the memory and set down for the season but decorations are a labour of love, done with the banter of placements and replacements, adjustments made for all sorts compromises of love and harmony, out of the heart and in the company of lovers.

The presents you share are wrapped and placed at the foot of the tree to be opened on Boxing Day for the truly posh or Christmas Day for those who aspire.

Let them rest

As the time drew near to board the train, the expiation was complete, let dead lovers rest, let their memory remain fond but give up the embrace of that which is gone.

Set their spirits free to roam the lands of the great beyond unbound by the grief and the loss of those that were left to mourn. Release them to their eternal repose and start the rest of your life.

The mourning is complete, the living have buried the dead and now remain to come alive again to joy, to happiness and to new loves and lovers.

Like one old flame did say, knowing that strange tendency, not an invite was offered but advice was given, find something to do and done let loneliness become the reality of your being alone.

Maybe one is now ready to find someone new, let the new adventure begin.

Thought Picnic: Has Christmas gone yet?

One beside oneself alone in singularity

Deep in thought one wonders about it all. The comforts of a hermit or the embrace of strange places where you are invisible in a crowd and safe in the multitude of faces that will never be remembered.

It is that season where everyone appears to find family if you have created one or it is close and suddenly you realise, you are alone and seriously part of nobody’s plans.

They are all gone, either for a while or forever as you stare at the same surroundings you woke up in or seek the attention of those paid to make their ends meet, else they would also be with family.

Things have been left undone, unplanned, unsettled and unsure; this is one Christmas that might well be over long before it started.

Deep in thought one wonders, be a hermit or be a stranger? I wonders.

I have a Christmas tree

It has arrived

Give me time and the pictures would arrive soon, there are baubles to buys and fairies to mount, mount atop the tree, I meant.

I went downstairs to the forecourt of my apartment block and got me a potted Christmas tree in memory of my dear Chris.

There wasn’t much time for negotiations, it looked good enough and in the mid-price range so I decided to get it.

Being quite a heavy thing the florist offered to deliver it for a price, surely not for taking it to the lift and putting it in my hallway. I just live upstairs I said and then offered to deliver it free walking with me to my apartment.

Unlike the other trees on offer with contraptions and awkward stands, I can water my tree and care for until I go away probably after Christmas.

Never fail to do the things you could have done and enjoyed together that you are left to do those things just in memory of what could have been.

Chris in my Christmas tree tale

The forest comes to town

Every yuletide season the florist that occupies the forecourt of my apartment block seizes more acreage with a container larger than the kiosk and a large cordon fence.

The year round trade in cut flowers from far and near gives way to a forest of hacked-down conifers of pine, spruce or fir, evergreen trees of different sizes from dwarf to redwood height, well, something close.

Christmas trees and the real ones they are with wooden crosses nailed to their bottom ends rather than spending extra on a pot or some metallic foot-operated contraption that many with more money than sense purchase to stand their Christmas trees for all of a maximum of 20 days in a whole year.

You’ll be hard-pressed to find any other use for it, but it is fanciful enough to attract lose money masquerading as being hip.

Chris in my thoughts

Each time I see a tree, I think of Chris, many years ago, he was to come for Christmas and was most insistent on my getting a Christmas tree and I was not going to have any of it.

He never came, one of my many disappointments and this was because he had a dog and by the time we considered kennels and care in his absence the hurdles became insurmountable.

This Estonian/German tradition of decorating trees for Christmas just did not catch on for me, I had decorated enough artificial trees with lights and baubles that not another second of my life would be spent putting a fairy atop a tree, I see enough fairies every day.

What I’ll give

For Chris, a compromise was possible, we dared to love but easily didn’t, we dared to hug but hardly touched, hearts yearned for unity but fears left the possible unfulfilled and much as we tried to give up our entrenched positions our obstinacy left us aloof, adrift, apart and asunder.

A burning desire of hearts left too frail to be mended after each promise came to naught, time and time again but the fondness never wanes still.

So, I wonder if for Chris a Christmas tree in my living room would be just the thing to give my memories of my dearly departed a sense of being near again.

For each tree I see just reminds me of him and honestly I will tolerate everything I did not want about Christmas trees in my house just for the memory of him who can only dwell in my thoughts and smile in my dreams.

I miss you friend.

What rice for Christmas

Up and about late

My Christmas day was a very slow start, it was probably well into the afternoon before I managed to slip out of bed by which time a number of phone calls and text messages had come through that I did not get to handle because my phone was in vibrate mode having been set to that ay church the day before at the Christmas carol service.

When I did get up my friend was already cooking the beef and tripe but was unsure of what we should have for Christmas lunch.

Rices for choice

There was one for making stew and white rice, the other for making jollof rice and fried plantains. Considering I had put much stock into acquiring ingredients suitable for jollof rice, we went for that and postponed the making of stew till later.

So, there I was in the kitchen, softening the dried barracuda fish cuts in hours of boiling and preparing the seasoning for the jollof rice – my eventual scheme involved first frying the rice and then pouring the cooked vegetables and seasoning into the rice afterwards.

The plantains then went into the electric fryer and within 90 minutes we were done for our Christmas meal which we had to the strains of the gospel of Saint Matthew.

Giving Jesus a look in

An interesting difference that started with the nativity story through the ministry of Jesus Christ, there was no way the significance of Christmas would be lost on Christmas day.

Unfortunately, by the time we settled down, the Queen’s speech was over and television was a bit of a drag between those who are fed up with Christmas and those who make Christmas a complete fawning annoyance – forget the religious significance, Jesus nowadays cannot get to blow the candles on His birthday that is if he ever gets invited in.

After a few cups of Smokey Earl Grey tea, it was really time to put our feet up or in my case lie down on the inflatable mattress and watch television through shuttered eyelids.

Of Christmases past

It is a long way from my Christmas days in Lancashire where after dinner my surrogate mum, my dear friend’s mother tries to get us out of the house looking for Sambo the slave who was buried some 200 plus years ago in some windswept wilderness whose grave still gets tended today or plodding in the snow where my wish for the sun is so intense, I cry for warmth.

In truth, my last three Christmases were spent in the sun in Gran Canaria, the memories of being at the beach at Christmas are fond.

As the night drew nigh, my friend suggested we watch his District 9 DVD; there has been much Nigerian angst about the film, it was important I had a good viewing before i comment on the film – this was a good opportunity to do that.

Christmas was quiet, good, fun and wonderful; I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas day too.

Christmas is today, the feast of thieves

Between God and mammon

One is almost driven to distraction about the way Christmas is so yoked to retailing to the complete exclusion of the Christmas story in the United Kingdom.

Originally, as varied historians assert, what became the Christmas [1] feast was once a pagan feast, not that it so matters now, but the contemporary message of Christmas should for all intents and purposes retain a link to what gives rise to the celebration.

What I see on the English channels on my hotel television is the great lament about retailers, shopping, bargains and profits – Baby Jesus cannot seem to get in edge-ways.

Buying at every cost

Materialism has pervaded the atmosphere, even customers are rushing into the upscale Selfridges, it really makes you wonder as people queue up for shopping in the winter cold just to grab a cheaper handbag, shirt or dress.

In my view, what you cannot afford at the full price you probably should not have, the victory of a bargain or a price reduction by omission or commission rely belies a poverty of spirit that people fail to understand. However, sometimes shops have deals or promotions but we should not be waiting for the stirring of the water by angels [2] for cripples to “jump” in.

Between affordability and bargains

For instance, when I was buying my home, my unspoken prayer was to be able to afford it whenever I was ready rather than having to wait for prices to collapse before I stepped in – what if prices did not collapse but doubled, then I would never get to buy my home.

Equally, much as we live in a debt-fuelled world where the ability to pay off a debt depicts your seeming creditworthiness especially if you are middleclass, the received wisdom should be that one should not spend what you do not have in the bank to pay off – regardless of the reach of your credit cards.

But people are trapped in a hedonistic addiction to goods and the need to be able to show off, Christmas should never be a time for bargains and really, I have no sympathy for retailers who fleece their customers throughout the year and plead low till receipts at the end of the year.

Not in that demographic

If most customers were like me, retailers would have to get into better logistics to keep in the market, the competition would be so keen that only retailers with durable, sophisticated and valuable goods would remain in the marketplace.

Behind all this lament of the retailers stands the shareholders who have raked in profits like money is going out of fashion and even in these lean times, they still expect those atrocious profits – my wallet is closed because, the shoes I buy, last; the clothes I wear are durable; I am not a fashion slave, my old television still shows good pictures and I am not given to unnecessary ostentation.

The government would like the economy to recover through more consumer spending, which is a fine macro-economic idea, but customers as individuals need to be wary of situations where they are more exposed financially than they should be – thrifty is the word, regardless of the national call to spend; except where you have received a bailout from the government.

Bring Christmas back

Since Christmas is about the roots of Christianity, if the retailers are having a really tough time this Christmas without any mention of Christ, we can look at it as the proverbial overturning of the tables in the temple – then Jesus took exception to making His Father’s house a den of thieves [3], today, the climate takes exception to making a holy and religious time of celebration and reflection a trading day for cheaper tat.

Maybe one should have some sympathy for the impoverished, seeking the unaffordable but who think overpriced goods they crave are now a bargain to be had – conversely, maybe that is the real price of the goods with a little markup – we have all been had and we think we have had them.

In fact, Christmas becomes a good cloaking scam for a more sinister con, but if it costs less, it is worth less or should that be worthless?

Sources

[1] Christmas - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[2] John 5:4 For an angel of the Lord went down at certain

[3] Den of thieves

Merry Christmas, enjoy the wine

Dragging the Christmas tree home

Forest of East Amsterdam

The rat race for Christmas has begun and nowhere is it as evident as at the flower shop just outside my apartment tower round the front towards the supermarket.

Every Yuletide, I run the gauntlet of a survivor terrain, a forest of Christmas trees arrive like a stage set for Macbeth [alluding to the prophecy that Macbeth would rule till the forest moved to his castle] and each year the activity gains in sophistication, and it is brisk business.

First it was the netting used to pack the flailing branches into some compact tree baggage – adequate description fails me – then, people worried about how to pot the tree; so there was the cross stand on which to mount the tree.

Taking a trick stand

The new innovation is a metal foot lever stand which seems to be reusable, there would be many an erect Christmas tree standing proud in homes this year and the inventors would be laughing all the way to the bank.

The stand is just so gimmicky and smacks of gadgetry, typical of anyone getting there for a tree and ending up with a complete sawmill, you just see it and your mind works overtime about how lovely it looks, how neat the idea is, you have parted with your money long before you get home and realise you should have asked for a user manual – Ha! Ha! Ha!

The family with kids and papoose in tow arrive and end up with a 2-metre height Christmas tree which would never fit in the car boot but they probably will snap the tree in two and glue it together again back at home, this is where duct tape comes into its own.

Christmas tree transport

The versatility of the bicycle is tested to its limits as I was forced to stand and watch how the bicycle would be used to cart away the tree, they succeeded but I wondered about it all.

Just then the baby was kicked out of the papoose for a more important passenger and that is not to say of the number of 50s-era design prams that had another road test for the Christmas tree.

With the credit crunch leaving us clenching our teeth in reactive pain for the cost of everything and our ability to meet the cost, I thought a shorter Christmas tree might have sufficed, but I leave bedecking the tree with baubles to the sophisticated and initiative of those who would do well and excel.

Palm trees for Christmas kisses

I have never been persuaded of a Christmas tree, in fact, long ago I had a good long-distance lover’s tiff on the need to get one, and we each had Christmas in separate places in the end.

Since I would not be around to take the Christmas tree down after the 12^th day of Christmas, I have a good enough excuse doing without one – they usually end up in the neighbourhood bonfire at the New Year.

I would be having palm trees to hug for Christmas, hopefully I would not end up under a mistletoe bush, I have kissed too many frogs already, I need the kiss of life.