My PC (Post-Christmas) Blog

Crisp, cold mornings - how we love them! Revel in their bright, inviting, deeply motivating energy. Let's get out there! A brisk walk, healthy, invigorating, blowing away the cobwebs, exercising our weary limbs, nudging our jaded metabolism into action, bringing a rosy warmth to our cheeks and a sparkle to our eyes. A healthy lifestyle for the taking - who needs the gym? Actually, it's raining today, so maybe I do!

Some years ago (well, actually, quite a lot of years), living in a small rural community, I remember those bright, chilly days, walking to work in the crisp, early morning, delighting in the sunlight, the white, frosted rooftops, the wintry gardens, full of orange rosehips and red-berried holly trees, tall, bleached pampas grasses and dark green fir trees. I would arrive at work breathless and glowing, my cheeks matching my warm, red, woollen scarf and my matching red hat pulled down over my frozen ears. "You look like a little carol singer" my friend, Gill, would tell me as I peeled off the layers of clothing and tried to thaw out beside the radiator.

Now Christmas is over for another year! That glorious post-Christmas feeling! Freedom from all the rush, the pressure, the present buying, the food shopping, the parties, the baking and basting and the eating and drinking... Time to put your feet up and enjoy a well-earned rest! Christmas! It's been a strange one this year. There are global problems - and not only in the eurozone. After two thousand years plus of revelling, a growing multi-culturalism and an obsession with political correctness, things are turning on their heads a little.

This year our Muslim friends from Turkey sent us warm greetings and wished us a 'Merry Christmas'! Another friend wished us 'wonderful holidays' and a 'holy 2012'. Another wrote from Australia, calling for us to banish 'winter festivals' and put the 'Christ' back in Christmas trees - a reasonable request considering the origins of the festival they celebrate! The British prime minister, uneasy at the state of the nation, has been urging us all back to 'Christian values' and the Queen herself, in her Christmas broadcast, called us all gently to account and surprised us all by recommending us to consider escape from the excesses of that 'recklessness and greed' that trouble us all by opening our hearts to the Christian Saviour!

These are desperate times and may call for desperate remedies. Time to find a balance between the relentless demands of the material world and spirituality? Doubtless there is a touch of political point-scoring involved here and definitions of 'Christian values' come in a variety of shades of colour, but there are interesting developments afoot in our weary and ailing world.

It's nearly 2012 already! Time to cast our minds back over the past year and evaluate. Maybe a brisk walk in the wintry weather is the first step towards clearing the head whilst we consider the options... Happy New Year everyone!

A baby's eye view...

What is this thing we call Christmas? We do it every year - devout Christians, atheists, agnostics - nearly everyone in the 'Christian hemisphere' does it. We've always done it. It's like cutting the tail off the Christmas goose before you put it in the oven (poor goose). Once upon a time the oven was too small, so you developed a strategy. Now, well, now no-one can remember why but they do it anyway.

Modern Christmas is like that! Crazy, crazy, crazy! Stress, migraine, mounting debt and still we do it. Shop till you drop. Party till you're pissed. Stuff till you're... well, stuffed!

So what would be the baby's eye view on all this? After all, it all started with a baby, didn't it? A manger full of straw, a draughty stable, a few rustic shepherds... what would Jesus do? WWJD? Words fail us - what would Jesus do? Things seem to have got a little out of hand these past two thousand years. I guess the wise men have something to answer for, starting us off on all this decadence. They came late to the party, we're told, but they brought gifts - gold, smelly stuff, cosmetics - high class stuff! And now we have to bring presents. And that's when the trouble started...

What shall I buy for Aunt Flo? Would Granny like a tin of biscuits? Can I have a mini-fridge for my bedroom, mum? But I wanted a playstation...! I think maybe Jesus is a little bemused right now. The heavenly host too are still waiting for that elusive peace on earth to start and singing their midnight song in the clear night air. Come to that, I'm confused too!

Mind you, when you ask people what they are hoping for this Christmas they often come up with expectations for the season of peace and goodwill that don't sound too much out of line with the original intention - warm, loving family gatherings; chilling out over a good meal and taking time to share some precious moments with your loved ones; a protest against rampant materialism outside St. Paul's Cathedral (WWJD?); helping out at a shelter for the homeless, serving a Christmas meal and a warm smile to those who have nothing in life; inviting the bereaved, the lonely and the oddballs to share a Christmas Day meal with you in your own home; an armistice in the midst of wartime hostilities... Maybe we've forgotten the baby, the donkey and the wise men, but perhaps there's still hope for our poor old human race. There's still some warmth and cheer to be found and still a bit of room at the inn... "Jesus would be with the St. Paul's protesters this Christmas" says Dr. Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Maybe he's right.

Jingle bells, Batman smells!

Parodies! We love 'em! Why do we do that? Why do we take some perfectly innocent song, rhyme or Christmas carol that someone has spent hours lovingly creating and deliberately ruin it - just for fun! We just can't resist, it seems. It has to be something well known in order for others to get the point. It seems it has to rhyme. (So if you don't want anyone to parody your poem make sure it doesn't rhyme!) It is often something poignant, romantic, maybe a little 'naf' and then we have just the material we need to work on. Bing Crosby's 'I'm dreaming of a white Christmas' would be eminently suitable...

Christmas carols are the perfect choice. Endowed with centuries of powerful meaning, romantic imagery and the stuff imagination and dreams are made of, Christmas carols provide the perfect medium for us to practise our art or maybe our art-less skills on. You don't have to be quite so artless as 'Jingle bells, Batman smells' but you can if the mood takes you!

One of my favourite parodies of all time is probably the Spinners' rendering of that famous tried and tested carol 'While Shepherds Watched'. At school we giggled and tittered through school singing lessons and assemblies as the most daring amongst us bravely sang out the latest version of this carol, about these rustic chaps washing their socks in the fields at night whilst the angels entertained them with heavenly melodies (tub rhyming with scrub). But the Spinners (in my opinion) did it best when they pictured the shepherds huddling in the wintry fields around a giant television screen (a drive-in movie?) and the angel of the Lord seizing the moral high ground and switching their harmless amusement from ITV to the more educational and cultured BBC (rhyming with ITV) emissions. As far as I know, ITV never won any law suits against them as a result. Sounds a bit tame recounting it like this but to its first audiences it was hilariously funny (really!).

At school in the '70s, parodies featuring the Beatles were the obvious choice. 'We Three Kings' (of Liverpool are) was transformed for us by the substitution of 'John on his scooter, blowing his hooter, Following Ringo Star'! Remember that one? We were simple folk in those days and easily pleased.

Of course, all these reminiscences and ramblings are somewhat culturally defined so probably most of my readers from Russia, Singapore and Nairobi (I wish!) have no clue as to my meaning, but I am sure there are many out there for whom this rings a bell or strikes a chord. More than one music band has made a fortune out of simply parodying someone else's material. They say nothing is original - all creativity stems from something someone else has said, written, painted already so there's no shame and no blame! Plagiarism - no! Parodying - why not?

December again - already!

December: the final month of the year. The end of the run! We made it! For me a month of white lights, frosty mornings, red candles, baking extravaganzas, present wrapping, choosing of Christmas cards, shopping and a hundred and one last minute tasks. A month of chilly starts, Christmas tree sellers under draughty railway bridges, bright red poinsettias on the window sill, shopping, visits to family and friends at home and abroad and, hopefully, some surprises! For my Australian friends I guess it's a month of beach barbeques, swimming pools, T-shirts and shorts and, on the down side, worries about bush fire alerts. Isn't our world strangely wonderful? Christmas pudding on the beach??

Here in the northern hemisphere we're on our way (dragged screaming and kicking, many of us) towards the thick of winter, desperately hoping to avoid the excesses of last year's snow and ice. There are some, I know, who are passionate about all that cold white stuff - I know there are a few of those eccentrics about and not all of them under ten years old - but I am not among them! In the south, the temperature is on the way up, the fire hazard warnings will be out, the sun is shining, the sea is warm and yet it's still Christmas! I never could get my head round that...

Of course, not all of us celebrate Christmas. I'm going to a 'Winter Fair' tomorrow, a title which acknowledges that fact. Living in a multi-cultural community, with neighbours from hundreds of different racial and cultural backgrounds there are no assumptions made. Not 'Christmas', just 'Winter'. But still the romantic associations are there - winter, ice, snowflakes, husky dogs, warm woollen sweaters and furry boots. It's that time of year and for me that includes Christmas! I'm a sucker for seasons. I'm so glad I live in a part of the world that has clearly defined seasons (even though current climate changes seem to have confused things for us a little lately). Actually, it's been a strange autumn, so mild, and I have roses, fuchsias and forsythia blooming in my garden at present, but I still know it's winter - and they shouldn't be! This time last year, in this same season, we were up to our ears in snow.

So to all of you who celebrate Christmas, I'm getting in early to wish you a happy one with as much peace and goodwill and as little hassle as possible! If you celebrate winter, I envy you (my passion is for summer!) but enjoy it. If you're heading into summer right now, enjoy! And for everyone alike, happy December! It's come round again!

Happy Feet... Happy Meat!

I am a little worried about how this thought of mine, which has started meandering around the channels of my mind, will be received. I am reluctant to share it because it touches on a subject about which many people feel passionate. These days free-range, Fair Trade, organic and, of course, vegetarian products are popular and widely available. They raise awareness of vital issues in our global society and they encourage a healthy consideration of our fellow beings, both human and non-human. The fine tuning of these questions and the deliberations that go on around them (concerning use of chemicals, carbon footprints, light pollution, healthy eating and so on) can become complex and labyrinthine. However, through them all, a healthier, juster way of living is placed before us for our consideration and action. Not everyone reacts in the same way and there are many varieties and shades of response.

One of the valid responses to this question has been the development in a number of countries of so-called 'happy meat'. One can consider all the issues and decide to become a vegan or vegetarian; some of us simply draw the line at eating veal, battery chickens or foie gras; others decide, after all, that life is too short, the issues too complex and plough doggedly on, enjoying their diet of steak, veal or cheap hamburgers, with no questions asked. Alternatively now one can choose a careful mid-way point along the line of argument and opt for happy meat, meat derived from animals whose albeit short lives have been deemed to be happy: well-fed, well cared for, free to roam in the fresh air and the green grass. A happy solution for all concerned. Or is it?

I am one of those people blessed with a rather quirky, inquisitive approach to things, an interest in linguistics and logistics and a penchant for pulling things apart and asking 'why?' I've always been like that. Some find it irritating, others endearing. Take your pick - I am at the mercy of my readers. Anyway, the question that keeps meandering around my head is a simple one really but it may have consequences. It may be flippant; it may be a touch politically incorrect, but I will ask it all the same - just to raise the question and keep us all on our toes, and if I make anyone cross with me then I apologise...

"Why?" I am asking. Why is it better to kill and eat the happy heifer who is busy minding its own business, chewing the cud, enjoying the open fields and the sunshine, than its neighbour, cooped up in indescribable conditions in a dark, cramped barn, miserable and waiting to die? Why kill and cook the blissfully happy pig, wallowing in soft mud and happy as a 'pig in clover', and not that other miserable specimen hurtling up the motorway in its overcrowded lorry, fighting for even a breath of air through its little pink nostrils? Euthanasia for pigs? A happy release for force-fed geese or turkeys? Why not? Why eat the happy pig and leave its miserable neighbour to suffer? Why not leave the free-range turkey gobbling in the farm yard this Christmas and gobble its unhappy relative from the factory farm?

I am missing the point, you all cry. You are right but I am loathe to spoil the fun of all those happy animals. The point, of course, is to encourage all farmers to strive for happy herds, delighted ducklings and cheery chickens. It's a fine cause and I'm all in favour. But it is a long process and, in the meantime, should I really choose to eat the happy ones and reject the rest? What sense does this apparently worthy choice make?

Not on the menu

People watching! I'm doing it again. I think I'm incurable - not that I'm looking for a cure - it's too much fun! The cafe has a double aspect so I get the best of both worlds: a view out the front to the market square with all its brightly coloured, canopied stalls, bustling with people on market day and, at the back, a view over the canal, the shopping street opposite and the rows of bikes leaned up against the railings.

There's a winter chill in the air, the first of the year really, which somehow inevitably turns my thoughts towards bright, crisp mornings, Sinterklaas and Christmas. The market stalls are so reminiscent of those colourful Christmas markets, so popular in northern Europe, their stalls overflowing with wooden decorations, toys, candles, hot chocolate and gluhwein! But for the moment I'm content with my mug of hot coffee - it's too early still for all that.

A couple of women are sitting by the back window, relaxing together over a cup of tea and catching up on the gossip. The conversation is animated and I do my best to eavesdrop. But they are speaking in Dutch and it's too difficult, so after a while I give up and let their words drift over my head, blending with the soft and innocuous music that fills the air, typical of cafes everywhere. Nothing to get excited about musically, but it covers the silence and provides the gently chilled-out atmosphere we're all looking for. 'Gezelligheid' (a kind of cosiness) the Dutch call it and for that there always have to be candles and soft lighting, together with the music.

Snatches of conversation drift over to me and I catch the word 'lekker' repeated over and over. 'Gezellig' (cosy), 'lekker' (delicious, good) - such familiar words - just a few of those Dutch cliches we joke about. 'Hartstikke leuk!' (fantastic!), 'Uitstekend!' (outstanding!), 'Fijne dag verder!' (enjoy the rest of your day) they exclaim. I am building up a stock of these handy sayings; there is one for every situation. My Dutch is poor but my ever-growing treasure store of cliches ensures that I have something to say on every occasion!

I joke about it, but these are the things I shall miss when one day I return home to my native country. I shall also miss the coffee, the 'patats' (chips) and the cheese (I won't miss the windmills and the clogs). It's a game we play at home: "what will you miss when we go home?" I will miss the market. I will miss the way passers-by wish me 'eet smakelijk' (enjoy your meal) as I tuck into my picnic. I will miss my favourite bars and the cafes where the owners recognise me as 'the English lady who writes'.

The waitress has just arrived with a little tray full of flowers in simple glass vases. A white freesia and a purple iris for each table. She smiles and we exchange a few words. I'm a regular here. I shall miss that too. But, for now, I just drink it all in because there's so much to see and so many stories to invent about the people around me. People watching is not on the menu but it's free of charge.

The Refrigerator Fringed with Joy

My house is full of the smell of freshly baked bread! It's an intoxicating aroma. I haven't baked bread for years but a recent holiday in Wales, staying in a tiny rustic stone cottage with a bubbling stream running past the kitchen window, awakened memories of previous years and got me in the mood. In those days, living in a more laid-back country location, I had embraced the joys (and occasional disappointments) of home baking, arts and crafts and home grown veg. In Wales this last summer we bought home made Welsh cakes and Bara Brith (a mouthwatering, dark brown, fruity tea bread, sliced and spread thickly with butter). We visited craft workshops and admired the work of local potters, artists, weavers and jewellers. We enjoyed the slower pace of life and the more 'grass roots' life style that we found there and hankered after the past.

In my enthusiasm I returned home, armed with strong white bread flour, stone ground wholemeal wheat flour and little bags of yeast, ready to recover my lost skills and try my hand at 'country living'. For that's what it's all about really. Nothing like this is ever just about 'the thing in itself'. We're all such romantic dreamers. So the smell of fresh bread in my kitchen conjures up pictures in my mind of scrubbed pine tables in a big country kitchen, of bright, shiny pots and pans hanging from racks and freshly-picked herbs drying on hooks, suspended from the ceiling. All at once I am in one of those 'Escape to the Country' dream homes where the show's latest participants, a retired couple, are drooling over their ideal kitchen: gleaming white, Shaker-style cupoards, fitted from floor to ceiling, with a handy 'island' in the middle. It's the focal point, the hub of their home, where they are going to entertain family and friends to their mid-life experiment in community living. Everything in life has 'associations', capturing our imaginations and transporting us to places we would rather be.

One of my favourite books* opens with a scene in which Mrs. Ramsay, her husband and her youngest son, James, are together in the living room of the country house where each year they spend the summer months, close to the sea. At six years old, James is portrayed as a sensitive child. He is easily affected by moods and atmospheres and by the words and unspoken inferences of his parents. Virginia Woolf describes in careful detail how James belongs to 'that great clan which cannot keep this feeling separate from that, but must let future prospects, with their joys and sorrows, cloud what is actually at hand." James sits on the floor, cutting out pictures from a catalogue. He is busy with a refrigerator. His mother tells him of the proposed outing they will make tomorrow, in a little boat, to visit the lighthouse keeper, if the weather is fine. At this news, the refrigerator picture, for James, is endowed with heavenly bliss. It is 'fringed with joy'. "But it won't be fine" pronounces his more down-to-earth father. He was incapable of untruth, Woolf tells us, "never alterated a disagreeable word to suit the pleasure or convenience of any mortal being, least of all his own children." In his intense disappointment, James's world crumbles and he is filled with feelings of hatred. So the refrigerator becomes the target for the little boy's emotions, first joy, then hate and his mother quickly tries to find another picture for him to cut out to distract him from life's harsh realities.

Life is all about associations. Some things are fringed with joy. Others have more upsetting connotations. We love home made bread because it embodies some perceived country idyll. We hate the name 'Eric' because of the little boy who sat next to us in class and pulled our plaits when we were five. "It is what it is" my ex-boss used to say. No it isn't! Things are rarely just themselves.

* To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf. Published 1927.