December 2008 Archives

'Bankruptcy is set to be all the rage this season'

CHRISTMAS has come and gone and everyone's attention seems to be turning to what's ahead in 2009.

Unless you're one of those people whose New Year's Resolution was to not have any resolutions, most people's are very similar. By the end of January you'll have given up alcohol for at least 17 minutes and have a year's subscription to the local gym that you will only have gone to once: to spend a couple of minutes on a treadmill or pick up a weight and put it back down again.

That's if you haven't invested in the latest celebrity exercise DVD that you tried and couldn't complete; not bothering to press the stop button because the remote control has dropped off the end of the sofa and you're eaten so many Miniature Heroes you can't physically, or be bothered, to move.

And, as bankruptcy is set to be all the rage this season, this year's winter sales are perhaps more prominent.

There have already been queues outside retailers from the early hours since Boxing Day. Millions of people will be dashing into shops and ripping clothes off the rails (or from the floor in TK Maxx) for the bargains in the hope that they will find what they're looking for.

In the winter, when you need a warm coat, the shops sell summer-wear and swimsuits. And in the summer, when you are thinking of holidaying in the sun, all you can get is warm clothes and scarves.

Many people have been waiting for the winter sales to spend their vouchers and get the prices that they think the stores should be charging in the first place. Prices in the shops have been getting higher all year as if British inflation had somehow been confused with that of Zimbabwe's.

Pairs of jeans from only £4, jumpers and fleeces from only £3, and pairs of shoes from only £2.50. I'm sure the Bangladeshi children stitching in their own blood, sweat, and tears are much obliged.

Food shopping is pretty easy: a woman who breathes heavily with her mouth open, drags your bread and milk across the scanner numerous times before calling Maggie to run along and find how much it costs. Simple.

But general shopping itself, I hear, is much more difficult than it used to be.

It isn't fun to be wading through shops with people intent on bumping into you at every opportunity, walking in front of you then suddenly stopping because they're out of breath, confused, or have been distracted by something shiny.

It's no surprise internet shopping has proliferated.

As I'm writing this I could have a tab open with a shopping cart full of books waiting for me to press 'purchase', and I know that what I see on the screen in front of me will be on the doorstep tomorrow morning.

Secondly, if I couldn't just type the title of the book into an online search engine, I would have to wonder around a real book shop. This usually consists of rummaging through the autobiographies of 12-year-old singers and books about tea with the Vicar in a village, or asking for help from an unwary member of staff who think that Charles Dickens is a fictional character and Salman Rushdie is a sexually transmitted disease.

And you can get all your music from iTunes for your iPod from the comfort of your iHome.

But then again, doing the shopping online does have its downsides. You can usually only buy something after you've given your name, address, email, what password you would like to use, how much you earn, and whether you would like some Viagra from Mr. Seboni in South Africa for £4.99 a pop.

'You may have spent the last 3 months working up to this but it never turns how you wanted it to'

The latest addition of the television guide is double the size so it can fit in all the repeats of Christmas specials that will be on television, everything has had to be taken out of the fridge or squashed up at the top to make way for a 15lb turkey, and the same card from the next-door neighbours keeps dropping off the mantelpiece. It can only mean one thing - it's the season of good will.

Already this week, there have been interviews on the news of people suggesting that Christmas isn't what it used to be. Oh, it's no good anymore; it's too commercialised, oh, it hasn't got the same feeling that it used to have, oh, it was so much more family orientated in the old days - it used to be ten times better.

Of course, that depends if you thought sitting, playing with an orange and a thimble on Christmas day in the freezing cold with rickets, polio, and smallpox was part of the festive spirit.

But, after spending Christmas eve looking for a jar of cranberry sauce and throwing elderly women and children in opposite directions to get the last one, Christmas day never goes to plan anyway.

Christmas day. The big day. You may have spent the last 3 months working up to this day but it never turns how you wanted it to.

You get up at the crack of dawn to put the bird in the oven - using a new method this year (as always) after seeing your favourite television chef make it look perfect the week before.

This time, as you've heard Jamie Oliver say, for this year's latest method for preparation of the perfect turkey you need to make a special mixture to pour over the top: you need to import emu oil from the Australian outback; making sure it's travelled by sea - not aeroplane, add it to the fur of big foot before being stirred with the horn of a unicorn, poured over the French alps and lightly filtered over Angelina Jolie's nipples.

But, you still know in the back of your mind the turkey will still be dry.

You'll then rush to open the presents and watch the last 3 months worth of money that you gladly through into the arms of capitalism be ripped open and left scattered all over the room in about 10 minutes.

And you can watch and count how long people stare in admiration at a Top Shop voucher or at the book they told you to buy them.

If you're young you'll want to play with your toys that you can't open without a chain saw and several nuclear warheads. If you're a mother you stare blankly at the kettle with built in water filter and if you're a father you smile and pretend that socks and a Toblerone was just what you've always wanted.

And as for entertainment: In an age where television, PlayStations, the internet, Blu-Ray players and Nintendo Wii's compete for the attention of our eyeballs, watching Mary Poppins for the 100th time may not be the most popular choice.

And it's also time for people to complain about what's actually on the television at Christmas. Gone are the days of 30 million viewers watching Den serving Angie divorce papers; 10 million viewers is now deemed popular.

Forget the birth of Christ, it seems to be Doctor Who Day. The Queen's speech in HD, Strictly Come Dancing (again) and the soap storylines that probably involve an affair, a dead body, someone leaving, and a pregnancy test.

But while it's easy to criticise and be miserable and see whether the family are still talking to each other by the time Wallace and Gromit starts, everyone enjoys Christmas in their own little way.

While we wish John Lennon's Happy Christmas War is Over was still relevant and while it can be a time of reflection on loss and a time when you can feel homesick in your own home as much as it is a time for celebration - Christmas isn't just a date for presents and tinsel and television - it's a reminder that another year has passed, time is moving on and so while we can groan and grumble we should make of it what we can.

No matter how bad the family are.

'Some workplaces are preventing Christmas decorations from being put up on Health and Safety grounds'

I wondered over to the woman with the bright red satchel and leaflets hoping she was, as any woman with a bright red satchel and leaflets in the Bullring usually are, carrying free samples. I tried to make it look like I didn't seem too desperate for freebies by moving fast enough as though I had somewhere I needed to be but slow enough for her to stop me, to say "Excuse me...", and shower me with free gifts.

I was just starting to think about how I was going to act surprised that she had stopped me at random to offer complimentary samples when she saw me and said, "Excuse me...Do you and your family want a safe Christmas?"

I stopped and thought. This all depended whether her opening line was her way of issuing a Mafia-like threat in an If-you-want-to-live-follow-my instructions kind of way or whether she was saying it in a would-you-be-interested-in-a-free-gift-that-will-
increase-your-personal-safety? kind of way.

Since she didn't appear to have a gun or a box of burglar alarms I decided she didn't mean either. But the fact she had an accent that suggested she was about to run me down with a combine harvester is always going to cause doubt in any urban setting.

I slowed down and pretended I may have been interested. Just on the off chance. She smiled and said, "Did you know that 80% of people wash their turkeys at Christmas, which significantly increases the risk of food poisoning?"

Oh crap.

"And...Did you know that over 1000 people are injured by Christmas trees each year?"

No Freebies.

"And," at this point she was looking pretty pleased with herself passing me a leaflet, "did you know that 55% of alcohol drinkers consume more than the maximum recommended units of alcohol?"

I would have struggled to answer one question let alone her asking me three at once. Was I supposed to answer her or would she think I was trying to be clever? Are you supposed to say you don't know and act interested to hear the answer?

I gave a simple "Yes," and carried on walking. She seemed taken aback and then scowled at me as though I was the one who shot Bambi's mother. How dare you not listen to my health and safety facts.

I must admit that I didn't know washing the Turkey is supposed increase the spread of bacteria, but then again, I never have cooked, and don't intend on cooking, a turkey anytime soon. Or any food for that matter.

It seems that "elf n' safety" is interfering with Christmas more and more every year.

Guides and Brownies, in one borough have prevented people from singing carols near a shopping centre on Christmas Eve this year. Probably in case the husbands who are running around, last minute, wondering if it's acceptable to buy their wives a broom as a Christmas present, decide to stop and listen to the singing which may cause other passersby to bump into or even trip over them while they stand and watch.

Church bell-ringers have been told to wear earmuffs and protective helmets. Just in case the 400kg (62 stone) bell falls on their head.

Even some workplaces are preventing Christmas decorations from being put up on Health and Safety grounds.

Some have even complained on a religious discrimination injunction that banning Christmas decorations is being prejudice against the Christian belief.

Although, perhaps baubles, tinsel, Christmas trees and all the other Yuletide paraphernalia that's been available in the shops since mid-July may not epitomise Christian values, anyway.

But then, we wouldn't want anyone to trip over a pine needle and make a claim to InjuryLawyers4U, would we?

'We seem to be spending all the money on the most ridiculous experiments'

OVER the last 20 years, different governments have told us that there isn't enough money in the country's pot to send soldiers to fight with little more than sticks and stones, to bring the country's children out of poverty, and to allow the NHS to invest in soap and water.

But now, all of a sudden, the government seems to be rolling in dough. They can afford to cut interest rates to two per cent, nationalise all the banks, buy every house in the country, and still afford to carry out £10 million surveys into the recent proliferation of nettles and brambles.

There have been recent suggestions that there is insufficient funding in Britain's science and technology schemes.

It is said that the UK invests only 28% of what other countries such as Germany and Switzerland are investing in their science programmes.

And it's not surprising children are not as interested in science. There has been a decline of 20% in students taking science courses over the last 15 years.

There has been many health and safety rules recently that has meant that fewer experiments can be done in school labs and the fun has been taken out of science. Today you just have to sit and do calculations because throwing a small piece of sodium in a bowl of water and watching it ignite is now said to be too dangerous in many schools.

There was a time, a few years ago, when you could throw a big lump of sodium in to a large bowl and take Kings Heath off the map, and gone are the days when you could sprinkle bits of the sodium in the teacher's hair and hope for rain.

It seems that there are going to be a reduced number of scientists in years to come. In the future everyone will be able to defend criminals, analyse society's class system, and tell you about the life of Winston Churchill in 4 different languages - but no one will know how to replace the batteries in the new state-of-the-art remote control.

And the scientists that we will have will be analysing whether how many times we blink in a day has anything to do with the uptake of leprosy and whether eating only dairy products will cause you to sprout an extra toe.

With all the famine in the world, the energy crisis, and the fact the Earth is supposed to boil itself into eternity, you would think that Britain's scientists are busy in their bunkers; scratching their heads and drinking 10 cups of coffee an hour trying to come up with some solutions.

But no. We seem to be spending all the money on the most ridiculous experiments.
Yesterday a report was released suggesting that children "chewing their food slowly" would help to reduce the risks of cancer and that the more intelligent you are, the more healthy your sperm.

Anyone who believes this had better think about adoption.

While our European cousins are trying to cure all diseases and the US are trying to set up camp on new planets, here in Britain we're spending millions on finding out that passive smoking is harmful, that if you pour boiling water on your hand it may hurt, and are investigating which type of cheese tastes the best.

Women who take HRT will have a stroke or become so fat they have to be collected by the council and taken to be deflated. Range Rovers cause global warming and global warming is bad because we don't like it when the weather's hot.

We're all going to die because we eat red meat. Eating a sausage per day will give you a stomach ulcer and even worse - if it's an Irish sausage your head will explode.

If you eat butter or drink milk, you will die an agonising death and if you use a mobile phone or go near a pylon, you will turn into Jackie Stallone.

And that's if cornflakes don't get to you first.

'You'll probably start receiving your pension when you reach the age of 114'

ONCE upon a time, at the age of 65; you retired with a gold watch, a carriage clock, or a signature plate to remind you of all those years you paid into the state's pocket. You spent your pension on cruises or potting plants or model ships and when you weren't doing that you went looking around Marks and Spencer's for 'sensible shoes'.

Then, sometime later, you ascended on your Stannah stair lift to Heaven; your money going to your family - if they came to visit you - or the local sanctuary for cats with one eye and three legs if they didn't.

But now, things are different. Firstly, you'd be lucky if you can live on a state pension. You've reached the age of 65 and you were hoping to sit down with a cup of Ovaltine and catch up with This Morning, which you've missed for the last 20 years.

You may have been deciding to collect a few tea towels and book a few holidays to places you've always dreamed of going.

But, by the time you realise how much money you're going to get (just 17% of your average lifetime earnings) you find you have to go back to work or sit at home with cold toes because you can't afford to turn the central heating on and you play with a lose thread on your jumper because you can't afford the electricity bill to watch This Morning anyway.

Britain has the worst pension system in Europe. Across the EU, the average pension is a return of 57% of your lifetime's savings. In Britain, just 17% of your average life's savings is what you can expect to get back. Frieda and John Pierre across Europe are on the high seas with their yacht, gold medallions and £1million healthcare insurance while Ethel and Walter in the UK make-do with their £10 Christmas bonus and are praying the NHS can keep their limbs attached.

And it will probably get worse.

The chances are, with pensioners living forever and the retired population continuing to rise, further changes are probably going to be made.

In the future, after spending your whole life paying taxes to ensure our politicians can enjoy the view of a post-Woolworths apocalyptic landscape from the comfort of their £40,000 cars, you'll probably start receiving your pension when you reach the age of 114. And you'll only get it if you were born on the 3rd Wednesday of a month. In the summer. Of a leap year. Under a full moon.

But, being old and retired is not all that bad. Many pensioners out there are not going to let a rubbish pension ruin their retirement.

It's not all about death and boredom.

When you reach the age when you can live without sex but not without your glasses and people call you at 8pm and say "Did I wake you?", there are those who will like to spend their money on wholesale teabags and copious amounts of menthol products.

But there are just as many who give two fingers to the pension system and the state, and spend their hours surfing the internet, kickboxing and break dancing.

And there are still many positives to being old.

Your joints are more accurate at gauging the weather than the Met Office, all your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them, it's now socially acceptable to sing along to music in shopping centres, you think comparing operation scars is entertainment, you can go to eat dinner at 3pm without people thinking you're strange, you can start to wear those clothes you think have come back in, but never actually were, in fashion, you can have a party without the neighbours even realising, and you'll always be the first released from a hostage situation.