Christmas (W)Rapping

I felt the suffocating panic of Christmas looming this week as more and more cards arrived through the letter box from the usual mixture of nice people, daft people, local Indian takeaways and my newspaper delivery girl who, though I’ve never met her, wants me to have Season’s Greetings.

Once upon a time you knew where you were with Christmas cards as they all had a ‘Happy Christmas’ inside, but we now are so wary of upsetting everyone from Zoroastrans to people who don’t want to smile, that we now avoid the mention of Christmas and happiness to avoid any offence. I received a double whammy today with a Season’s Greetings inside a card that wished me a Happy Winterval on the front.

So what is a Season’s Greeting? Would a quick “My it’s cold” do the trick, or is it “I see fuel bills are up?”. There’s also “Got to pay my tax next month”. All these are greetings used frequently at this time of year so it seems to me that Season’s Greetings is a useless non message meaning either nothing at all or, in the case of my newspaper girl, “Don’t forget to tip”.

With all these cards I had to admit that putting Christmas off was no longer an option and I needed to face up to the annual climb in to the loft for the decorations. So, we now have our tree up, the wreath’s on the door with a few sweeties stuck in just in case anyone’s late and confused for Halloween, and my desk is covered in boxes of Christmas cards as I agonise over who will get the whole Bethlehem and Three Wise Men scenario, and who receives Santa relieving himself behind someone’s chimney.

I also started my Christmas shopping and more or less finished it on the same day. But before you despise me for being a right little clever clogs, the truth is I had already done most of my annual present buying online – everyone is getting Viagra, their bank details sent to Nigeria, and a degree from some American university this year – but I had to go out and get one or two personal items.

I knew that the shops would be busy so I was ready for the long queues in some stores which seemed to be selling off their stock, their premises, their staff and their future by desperately throwing stuff at us, most of which looked as if it had first seen the shelves when Santa was an elf. I didn’t know whether to join in and scramble around for bargains as it seemed to be dancing on the graves of the staff who were doing their best to look cheerful, but in the end the bad angel overcame the good one on the other shoulder and I filled my basket.

Joining the lines to pay, I waited for just under an hour in a shop I’ve always liked and I stood chatting to fellow waiters as we made the most of our time. It was a bit like being locked together in a broken down lift but without the worry of enclosed spaces. Or flatulence. After fifty five minutes of pleasant banter we reached the till and, as I went to get my wallet, I discovered I’d left it in my car. I could have cried.

There was one bit of light relief however as, after I came back and rejoined the line, a six or seven year old boy was misbehaving in front of me and, despite pleas from his mum, he just carried on pulling Christmas decorations off the shelves, dancing around madly and colliding with other shoppers while generally being a nuisance. His dad finally managed to control him with a line I wished I’d thought of when my kids were a bit younger. “Stop mucking about”, he said, “or I’ll phone Santa and tell him we’ve moved house”. He was good as gold after that.

As a youngster I loved the wonder of Woolworths, especially on Easter Monday when their Easter eggs were reduced to half price, so I took a nostalgic trip this week to look at their beautiful Christmas decorations hanging from the store’s ceiling. As I read them – Closing Down Sale, Fifty Per Cent Off, We’re All Doomed, Got A Job Going? – I hunted around for one last bargain. If I’d had a couple of pounds more in my wallet I would have taken the special offer of Buy One Store Get One Free, but opted instead for some chocolate.

For some reason, probably one of taste, amongst the rows of empty shelves they still have lots of pink, fluffy, artificial Christmas trees for sale and you can even buy pink fluffy logs to place around them. But, don’t go redecorating just to fit around the pink fluff when you proudly place it in your lounge. Remember, a log is for Christmas, not just for life.

I’m one of the world’s optimists but even I found the Woolworth’s receipts a bit hopeful. Bearing in mind they’re closing after Christmas and going to the great shopping mall in the sky, the receipt I was given proudly boasted that “Christmas gift returns will be refunded from December 28th.”

Christmas shopping has to be done right. It should be done in groups so you can share the pain and, after a few stores, it’s time for a coffee break to regroup, cross things off the list and compare notes. It’s also amazing what you can overhear as other groups go over their lists. “I got your mum those invisible suck in knickers for fat people” was just one, and I can only guess what Christmas morning is going to be like in their house when she opens that. Perhaps she’ll use it to keep the stuffing bound inside the turkey.

I’m off now back to my desk to dream of a few days off next week and to finish writing my Christmas cards. I see that you’re next on the list, so Season’s Greetings.

Let The Music Play

www.paulcoia.com


I guess I’m feeling a bit sensitive, a bit picked on and wondering how could this happen. Part of my childhood disappeared this week in an announcement as devastating as when the school nurse told me I was colour blind and it dawned on me that I couldn’t become a Thunderbirds pilot.

I thought the moon would fall, the French become loveable and Eva Longoria grow tall enough to be allowed on a theme park ride before this would happen, but Woolworths has now announced it is no longer to stock CD singles and I am bereft. It’s not that I usually spend all my spare time in Woolworths, although a fumble in the Pick ‘n’ Mix passes a quick ten minutes or so, but I am gutted.

The store say it is because people now prefer to download singles on line rather than carry them home from the shops and, for me, it’s a soul destroying thought. I suppose I could go in to a boring, rose tinted, retro themed, lecture on the beauty of vinyl and CDs and how all digital computer music stuff is just rubbish, but I won’t. At least not until the next paragraph.

Vinyl still rocks and , of course, is being pressed today for DJs and clubs, and when I hear an old song on the radio I always remember where I bought it, the record label colour, the songwriting credits, the whole nine yards. I’ll reminisce about carrying it home proudly so everyone could see it and playing it for the first time knowing it was all mine, perhaps taking it to parties or lending it to mates, hoping I’d be able to wipe the beer off afterwards. Now I’m expected to press a button and have instant gratification. A pleasing seven incher is no longer enough as size really does matter and smaller is better.

Nowadays we’re used to computer games having hidden messages, or Easter Eggs as they’re called, but sometimes I’ll find myself thinking of the hidden messages the old 45s contained. Some subscribe to the notion that running Led Zeppelin or Ozzy Osbourne records backwards means hearing satanic messages, although one guy with too much time on his hands has found evil references even when playing Barney the Dinosaur songs the wrong way. If you don’t believe me go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pC3ih0xw9ck. Want a bet he doesn’t have a girlfriend?

But the hidden messages I’m thinking about were scratched in to that bit of blank vinyl near the label where the engineers used to carve their nickname or a special message. If you get hold of some old seven inch vinyl you’ll find names like Tone or Utopia scratched in, or Porky, the alias used by the most famous of these people, George Peckham, who is currently selling off his memorabilia on eBay.

Sometimes the bands got involved too. Radiohead inscribed Eeny, Meeny, Miney and Mo on their famous album OK Computer, and The Rezillos hit single Top Of The Pops had How’s About That Then as the band’s tribute to the show’s host Jimmy Saville. But how many even know it’s there?

The Beatles’ singles always had the initials KT on the run off, though this was to show the type of purchase tax to be paid. A pity it’s not someone’s initials really as KT is on as many hit records as the Beatles themselves. Even when Lennon went out on his own, KT came too and Mr Ono used to add the message One World One People. Some CD singles have messages on the underside too, tho’ sometimes it’s only an advert for the EMI plant in exotic Swindon.

I find it hard to imagine I’ll be listening to the radio in twenty years time while reminiscing about the laptop I downloaded a particular song on, or the internet café where I first heard it, or how there was a cheeky hidden message telling how many bytes I’d downloaded. Do you think my pals and I will laugh over the hilarious message Download Completed?

Buying singles, for me, was special; I either saved up and went to the shop to treat myself or I asked for a particular record for my birthday and couldn’t wait for the sight and feel of the artwork, whether on vinyl or CD. Now that sensuous relationship is to be reduced to a quickie with a broadband router.

And what about the picture discs and limited edition sleeves? Will a download make me feel as good as my Apple shaped Sinatra 45 of New York New York? Or my Debbie Harry picture disc? And those framed gold and silver discs hanging on my wall and given to me over the years, will I now get a platinum USB cable instead? I love pulling out those seven inch plastic people pleasers which people have signed for me and remembering the artists as I look at the signatures. Should I now expect them to just leave an ID tag on my MP3 file instead?

Any old duff CD singles I’ve bought over the years have found their way in to the garden, tied with string and hanging from bushes to scare off the birds. Am I now expected to buy a virtual scarecrow? Direct the birds to EffOffOutMyGarden.com?

The current form of buying music on line comes at a time when we live in a Green obsessed world and some MP3 fascists would argue that getting rid of packaging has to be a good thing. I just hope, as they take their organic wine bottles to the recycling centre in their hybrid cars with their hemp seats, that they realise it’s my childhood they’re binning too.