Christmas Joy And Whatnot

I was asked earlier why I haven' t written a blog post for such a long time. I cobbled together some sort of answer, along the lines of "I've been busy...I haven't got many things to say about Sri Lanka at the moment....Yes, yes I must write something soon....but none of the 'regulars' are blogging much these days anyhow".

And it's all true.

But I must write something, or else you'll think I've given up blogging totally, then you'll move on, like people do.

So. Vut to say?

Ah yes, it's Christmas time here.

I suppose it's about what we're used to, but Christmas for me SHOULD be cold. I've had festive seasons, well days at least, in Sri Lanka and Singapore and, nice as they are, they just don't feel quite right. Heat doesn't work at this time of year, not that I like the cold, but it's just so, well, so right for Christmas.

Every morning I dress myself in a scarf, some layers and my new dark red gilet thing with duffle coat style toggles. Of course I don't wear anything at all from the waist down. I like that approach as it surprises people when I get out of the car or get up from my desk.

I jump in the new car and the kindly dash display tells me that the outside temperature is around three degrees. At that time in the morning there's mist and darkness and it all feels just like it should. Random houses are decorated with lights, the odd house has that totally over the top lighting that's usually featured on houses in American Christmas films starring Danny Devito and lots of artificial snow.

But, this being England, we tend not to have much of the wholly over the top lights everywhere thing that seems to feature so heavily in Lankan and Asian Christmas lights. Somehow here it all (mostly) seems to hit the right balance of subtlety and garishness. At this point, if you're a Sri Lankan you may not be aware of the word "subtlety", but I urge you to look it up, perhaps even using the concept some time.

This year has been quite a big one for my family because of my Dad's cancer. Things continue to progress nicely. He's now just about to finish his fifth cycle of chemotherapy and we wait to hear whether he'll be having another one or not. He's infinitely fitter and healthier than he was five or six months ago, but he's also a shadow of the fellow he was a year ago. We all make the choice on whether our glass is half full or half empty and I always like to go for the optimistic approach, but at times it's hard. The approach I mean, not the glass, which is a metaphor.

I've been gigging like a proper musician in the last few weeks. The season does that for you, with a few Christmas parties and a few birthday parties thrown in for good measure. Last week we did a gig and there was one of the blokes from Spandau Ballet there. You have to be of a certain age to have the faintest clue what that means. I'm not, but have been told by much older people of course.

Oh yes, I put up my parents' Christmas tree the other day and learnt something new. My Dad normally does this, but I'd never realised that he was so totally obsessed with how it should look. I'd assumed that, like most things at my parents' house, my Mum made the decisions and he just did the physical work involved in facilitating those.

But no, as far as the Christmas tree and lights went, it was his personal domain and I very nearly walked out of their house in a hissy fit about twelve times. First, at the age of forty five, after being married for so many years, I had to endure him instructing me on exactly how I should hold the lights so they don't break.

Then I was trained on where to place them followed by where to move them because they didn't look good. Then we argued about the need for a second set of lights on the tree because he thought that it needed more colour. I convinced him on the grounds of the need for subtlety, saying that it was all the rage these days. I say "I convinced him" but it wasn't one of those resounding victories, more like a narrow points victory made by a dodgy ref.

After it was all done, as well as some other lights over their kitchen doorway, the old man stared at things with an air of disapproval. He wasn't happy with the dodgy ref and things were compounded when Academic Bro turned up. I told him about Dad's possessive obsessiveness and he laughed with me sympathetically before turning and saying to him:

"Dad, the tree looks a bit bare, it could do with some more coloured lights I reckon."

"Wanker", I thought to myself, possibly saying it out aloud.

I'll be off then. I'm sure we'll speak before Christmas day.

And Now We Are 2010

You'd think that my first post of the year might be one of those humorous and stimulating ones, regaling you with stories of my festive period and the incredible things that happened to me and my loved ones.

No, not because those things didn't happen, more because I'm lacking in inspiration. It's an interesting concept to me, not so much about what has happened but more about how a person views the events and is able to narrate them afterwards.

Here I am, back at my desk and about to deal with a bit of a work crisis that has loomed up out of the calm and quietness that was the past week or so. If I had a penny for each time I've thought that life would be easy if it wasn't for staff or customers I reckon I'd have about twenty four pence, sadly no way near enough to retire on.

The Lankanosphere is predictably filled and dominated by posts about the presidential election. Some are interesting but mostly I find myself feeling fortunate that I'm not a voter there. Why? Because neither candidate would be my choice yet not voting seems a waste. I don't envy you lot, I really don't.

I went to Scotland you know. Me and C drove up there to spend a few days with her friend. It was a nice and relaxing time with good company and fun and laughter. Edinburgh was covered in snow like one of those Danish Christmas cards. The drive there and back was fun and hard in a concentrating all the time sort of way.

At one point the driving machine told us that the outside temperature was seven degrees in the negative. The roads were mostly clear and gritted but demanded my attention at all times. The drive from Edinburgh to the motorway was about an hour's worth on an A road that was a mixture of every driving condition you can think of, except heated ones of course.

The snow laden scenery was spectacular. There were so many points at which I wanted to pull the car over, get out and take photographs but stopping on a narrow road in those conditions might have resulted in some fantastic pictures at a very high cost. We made do with C taking some picture on my phone.

The trees looked like intricate sculptures, the heavy snow making each one droop with an eyecatching delicateness. I reckon that God, should he or she exist and should he or she ever get bored of running everything, could easily get work as a sculptor or pehaps even an interior designer.

At one point we drove through a small village and just about every house had ginormous icicles hanging down from the roof. They were deadly and beautiful looking things, maybe like some would describe Angelina Jolie, not me though as she's not my type.

The trip also gave me a chance to fully road test the new Kindle. It passed the extensive range of RD tests with flying colours and I finished my first Kindle book, the third in the dangerously addictive series by the late Stieg Larsson. If you fancy a good thriller chock full of interesting but at times stereotypical charcters, then I'd recommend you go out and buy yourself the first of Mr Larsson's books. Whatever you do make sure you start with the first one and then move through the next two in order, trust me on that one.

Then, we get back and I find out that TMS has only gone and retired. What the WTF? as the youth these days say, when they're not writing Lankan political posts. It sounds to me as if she's about to embark on a journey, not one to Edinburgh in the snow, I mean one of life's ones. I wish her well and thank her for the words and for letting us into her mind, just a bit.

I'll be off then. I really must get on with the award writing stuff too.

PS - It's my birthday, keep it quiet though.

Christmas Day Ponderings

My first Christmas day in a tropical climate was an experience, a good one at that. It was spent with good friends, good food and good copious amounts of alcohol. What more can a fellow ask?

It's a funny place to be for the festivities though, perhaps I'll get more used to it, I don't know. The heat and the mix of Christmas atmosphere are the strange things. It's almost two AM as I type this and I can't sleep but it must be twenty something degrees, possibly a factor in the whole can't sleep issue, though I'd hardly call it an issue, even though I just did.

I sort of have to pinch myself to remember that it is Christmas. My point of reference is the UK and how the weather is there at this time of year. I mooch, stroll and float around here, Christmas lights, decorations, trees and songs coming at me from every angle and it's hard to take in until I think of the cold greyness and miserable weather that for sure will be happening in London. Then it hits me that it really is Christmas time.

I spoke to the girls earlier today and I was as pleased as a village idiot who's just come last in the village idiot of the year competition to find out that they were genuinely chuffed with my choice of presents. I should probably get some sort of medal for my carefully selected gifts and might tell you more about them in another post.

The other thing I'm taking in here is the way that many shops, businesses and restaurants are open and carrying on as normal. Cabs are scooting around as commonly as ever, the eating houses are all open and the twenty four hour bakery that I'm so fond of was doing brisk business at about 10 PM this (last) evening. I suppose it's because of the mixture of cultures, religions and nationalities here.

In the UK Christmas is everywhere, particularly at this time of year. The country more or less shuts down for it. It's one of the few times in the year when it happens but it certainly does. Here things are different and I could have taken a walk down Orchard Rd and done some shopping earlier had I been that way inclined.

I'll try sleeping again now. I must tell you about the new book I'm reading. It's got over twelve hundred pages and I've only read about seventy five but am already engrossed. I don't think I've ever read a novel with so many pages and the words aren't even written in a massive font.

I hope your day was a good one. It it was half as good as mine then I'm sure mine was twice as good as yours.

Texting is gr8 but convers8shun is better

I do try to keep my rants to a minimum but lately this thing has got on my nerves and I feel a need to blog about it.

When used appropriately I think text messaging is a great concept. I appreciate that each person may have a different opinion on what is appropriate but, for me, texting is best used when the spoken word is not practical.

Texting is useful as a step down from the spoken word. If you want to communicate with a person and they, or you, are unable to talk at the time then texting is a damn fine substitute. You send the message and they can respond when they get the chance. It's also handy for communicating with people in other countries, where time differences or high call costs may be a prohibiting factor to a voice call. Another valid use for it is to send very specific figures that the recipient may need to refer to at some time. It's easier and more practical to send a phone number of person B to person Y, if you are indeed person $.

It's also quite pleasant to receive a nice personal message from someone on a special occasion. A "Happy Birthday Rhythmic" on a birthday is always appreciated. That's if you send it to me, if you send it to just anyone they'll probably take it as a compliment to their rhythmical skills but otherwise be rather perplexed. Unless they're a drummer, in which case it would be a bit too coincidental for comfort.

But I get really fucking fucked off with these blanket messages that some people send out to all their phonebook, particularly at Christmas and the New Year. Over the festive period I received one which said:

"Happy Christmas from John, Sue, Neik and Ian".

The number didn't come up as a recognised one from my phone book, so the chances are that the sender didn't intend me to receive it, but, if they did, then I haven't got the faintest idea who these people are. On top of that is the added insult that they couldn't even be bothered to check it before they pressed "send" and the person whom I assume to be a son called "Neil" has now become known as "Neik".

I got about ten other messages over the holiday period that were clearly sent out to all the addresses in a person's phone book. I didn't reply to any of them. The messages I replied to were the ones that were personalised and showed that the sender had put a bit of thought into.

Personalisation - That's what matters to people, whether it's in direct mail (something I know a bit about) or in sending out text messages. It doesn't have to actually be personalised, the trick is to make the recipient feel wanted, to feel as if they have been chosen to receive your message.
If I opened a window in my house and shouted out "Happy Christmas" just once, that doesn't mean that I have said "Happy Christmas" to all my neighbours.

If I print off a load of Christmas cards, each with the same message inside, and I print out some address labels and then post the items out, it's not personalised and the message doesn't come across as meaningful.

But, if I knocked on the front door of each of my neighbours and wished them a merry Christmas or if I wrote a small greeting in each card, it makes all the difference. Even more so if I knocked on the door of the blonde two doors down and she invited me in for a Christmas cracker and a rummage in her stockings. That's true personalisation for you.

Rant over. I have a hunch that the older readers here will agree with me.

Texting is great, but real conversation is even better.

Mood Indigo

Back at my desk as if Christmas never happened. We didn't have snow here, just cold and slushy weather, but it was nice.

I'll no doubt jot down some details and half truths about my Xmas festivities at some point but for now I have a cunning plan. It involves me sitting here and writing whatever comes into my head, seeing what tangents turn up and where they take me. You can come too, it might work or it might not work.

I've got three days at work during which all will be quiet and I can do some organising and planning for 2007. The wife gave me a new briefcase for Xmas, one of these highly trendy brown leather "satchel" types. So I finally got rid of the old black one which I've had since 1989. This meant some clearing out had to be done and I have been standing at the office shredder for some minutes feeding a steady stream of old bank statements and unwanted junk mail into it.

I have noticed one small negative about this new bit of craftmanship, it's actually a negative to do with the "satchel" case rather than just this one specifically. I can't leave it open and just peruse the contents casually, browsing is a bit harder to do. No big deal and it means that I'll keep it tidier than I did the old one, I had a tendency to chuck stuff into it and just leave it there.

Boxing day was spent at my parents' house. Copious volumes of rice and curry were consumed by all, a welcome spicy treat after the traditional Roast turkey on Christmas Day and the traditional Polish Christmas meal on the Eve. I like them both but my Dad's mutton curry is legendary.

Strangely my Carrom form has suffered since I had my eyes lasered. It's eight months now since the op and, during that time, I have been whipped at Carrom by both my brothers. This is unusual. One brother, the academic one, who wasn't with us yesterday, will normally give me a good game and the results can go either way. The other brother gets his sorry arse whipped by me every time. Some weeks ago I got my sorry arse whipped by that bro. It was then that I knew for sure that there was something badly wrong. I checked the small print from the eye people and couldn't see anything that mentions Carrom playing. I thought there may have been some kind of guarantee but there was nothing. I really didn't know where to go with this one other than to try to play my way through the nightmare.

But yesterday we had a doubles match. There was Bro 1, my Dad, the usual Sri Lankan stray a bloody nice chap called R and me. I definitely saw signs of my old form returning. As with most games confidence is the key to playing good Carrom. When mine is low I think too much and hesitate before shots, I place the disk on the lines and stare at it for just a bit too long. Then I play the shot and fuck up all over the place. When I'm on top of the game, well you know how it is don't you? The Queen is on the centre spot and you can slice it into the pocket every time, you don't have to think about it. You can pot those shots when the seed is jammed right up against the edge. All is sweet and you have no hesitation and championship confidence.

Yesterday I felt that just a bit of the old magic was returning. I don't want to get too excited, I know that I'll have to work hard to regain my ranking in my family, but I'll put the effort in and do it for my fans.

Other miscellany; A conversation with my good, but sometimes a couple of cans short of a two pack, mate went like this:

Him: "I heard Sam Brown died this morning"

Me: "No, you mean James Brown"

Him: "Ah yes, sorry mate, what was I thinking of?" (he is from New Zealand, so do the accent in your head) "Sam Brown's the one who did "Under the Boardwalk" isn't he".

Me: (feeling vastly superior because of my clearly advanced knowledge of modern music)

" No mate, Sam Brown's that white girl, Joe Brown's daughter, (who I've fancied for years (Sam, not Joe)), she had a number one with "Stop" a few years ago. Sam Cooke's the one who did "under the boardwalk".

Him: Ah yes, I've got it now.

I'm off to tidy my desk now.

Oh yes, did I tell you that I booked a ticket to nip over to the Motherland for a week? I'll be there in Feb, I can't wait.