Ho ho ho, tis the
season to be stressed out, screaming and utterly devoid of ideas for
exciting and thoughtful gifts. Why not buy your loved ones some
completely useless shite that they will never use? It will keep me in
a job, and the country will thank you for contributing to the
economy. (I don't mention it much, but I do work in the
useless-personalised-gift-that-your-uncle-who-you-hate-buys-you-for-christmas-and-that-you-immediately-throw-away
industry. Sorry, please don't hate me.)
I have just finished
getting myself into the festive spirit with an early Christmas movie,
Jingle
All The Way a masterwork of
acting genius from a Terminator
T-800 and a young
Darth Vader. I don't know if such a plot will ever have relevance
again, surely if it were made
now, every parent would immediately have pre-ordered a Turbo Man doll
on amazon, and Sinbad
off of the Cosby Show would have probably nicked one for his kid
while out on his post round,
saving all that shopping hilarity from ever happening. A 2016 Jingle
All The Way would probably
feature those smug, laughing shop workers crying into their
unemployment benefits as they are replaced by electronic drone
delivery.
Actual
Still from Jingle all the Way
The
trouble is, that my personal
favourite standby for last
minute presents – DVD boxsets, CDs etc – are now being rendered
completely obsolete by Netflix, Spotify, Apple Music,
good-old-fashioned online piracy and a sea change in the way we
consume media.
I for one am quite happy to give up on the idea of gift-giving
entirely and just have a nice day with my loved ones getting pissed
and eating food. This is why I prefer New Year to Christmas.
Personalised
tat is seriously big
business now (for
two months of the year) because the only way to show somebody you
care in the 21st
century is
to spend all the money you earned having to work extra hours in the
run up to Christmas (which
seems like a lot, because you only get 2 hours a week on your zero
hours minimum – not fucking living, calling it a living wage
doesn't make it one you tory bastards – wage contract the rest of
the year) on a Macaroni and
lentil portrait of them from some smarmy fucking art student on Etsy.
This one is ok actually
I
fear for the future, I fear that soon my stepchildren will reproduce,
and I will join the legions of people who receive a calendar of ugly
baby pictures every year, and are forced to display it proudly in the
house for all to see. I like to think that when that Christmas day
comes I will either feel differently about shitty personalised
calendars when they're my own grandkids, or have the kind of
relationship with the kids that will enable me to say proudly, “Take
this fucking crap back, and buy me some biscuits you ungrateful
wankers.”
Of
course, the genius of marketing personalised gifts to all and sundry
ensures the survival of capitalism as a concept (It is often
explained that without the yearly phenomenon of Christmas
over-indulgence,
the economy would collapse to nothing, the company I work for would
certainly collapse
without the boost we get in December from twats with too much money
buying useless shit for other twats.) as you can't just re-wrap it
and pass it on to some other poor sap a year later. Of course, I have
never ever rewrapped a shit present from somebody and passed it on to
somebody else. Honest, never, I certainly haven't ever been caught
out by giving it back to the same person who gave it to me, ever,
right? However, we anti-capitalist anarchist types could start
bringing the state to its knees by not buying each other new
shiny things (or
experiences, hot air balloon rides and wine tasting are just as show
off and wanky as a golden bog seat)
once a year, and just passing the same crap round and round between
us (bottles of Grappa
and Olde Englishe Cyder are
a good gift for this kind of game, nobody is ever brave enough to
open it (apologies for throwing in a private joke there)).
So
throw off your Grinchy Faces, buy everybody charitable
donations to something you actually give a shit about (or
a copy of my book – you didn't think I was going to write
something about Christmas shopping without throwing a little plug in
did you?) or go
to local places and get people something they might actually enjoy –
cheese, booze, stuff that won't clutter the place up and they won't
have to dig out of the cupboard and proudly display as
if they love it more than life itself
every fucking time you go round to see them. Ask them if they're
having trouble with anything, make your own vet vouchers for people
with expensive pet problems*, garage vouchers for people with old
cars that constantly break down (yeah, I know it's just cash, but
people spend so much on other people at Christmas
they screw their own finances up in a total reversal of sense) they
will appreciate it more. I hope.
Of
course, I'm probably wrong, and you actually
do all want a 3 foot high bamboo cat that holds two non-standard
sized bottles of wine while
simultaneously removing the last few square feet of empty real estate
from your dining room, so go
ahead, do what you want.
Me and Bitey wish you a stress
free shopping experience
*this
is not a plea for money in any way, but in a follow up to my
last blog about my cat, those of you who are interested might
like to know that after a lot of vet visits we finally ascertained
that her kneecap had become detached. There was an operation offered
to us that would cost
nearly £3000
and probably wouldn't work, we declined and have had her back leg
amputated instead for a lot
less. She is doing well, and
might be allowed outside again soon, not soon enough in her opinion,
which is how I know she's alright. The dog is ok again now as well
after her utterly disgusting
skin infection next to her ear,
the fur is growing back on her face and everything. The vets (who I
may have mentioned before are utterly brilliant) have sorted us out
with an account to ensure we
can pay for it all easily,
and all is fine and dandy. Please ignore all of this if you don't
give a flying fuck about my pets,
like most people, especially the wanker that hit her with a car and
detached her kneecap (incidentally, if you're reading this, please
leave the vet expenses money in a brown envelope in the egg money
box, thanks).
