Christmas Is Coming, The Goose Is Not Yet Born

It’s November today, unless you’re reading this in the published form Lewis’ greatest blogs in the middle of July. Then it’s not November, but chances are the issue will be the same whatever the time: Christmas.

I should love Christmas. What’s not to like? People buy you stuff, you buy them things you’d like in return, maybe in the hope they won’t like it and just leave it hanging around for you to take home. There’s good TV. You can eat too much, drink too much and any inappropriate comments towards family will blamed on the rum content in the Christmas pudding and forgotten by the time the New Year comes in.

I get carried away by the excitement of it all and end up splurging vast quantities of cash on incredibly wasteful pre Christmas presents for myself. ‘Tis the season; I deserve an ivory carved back stretcher to go with my gold plated truffle chocolates.’ That’s fine when there’s 3 weeks of build up. My bank account can just about survive the onslaught.

When I walked through the local shopping centre last Monday (25^th October) my heart sank. Christmas lights already. I couldn’t help it. A manic smile slowly started to form. Jingle bells began to be whistled. My hand reached for my wallet. Only 60 shopping days until Christmas, must ... buy ... crap.

Now I’m open and exposed. Everywhere is decorated; there’s no escape. Even the websites have festive trims. I’m like a heroin addict walking a world full of giant smack filled needles that I can just drop onto any time I like. I kid myself, that by using a card and not money it doesn’t count. But of course it does and I always end up spending the first week after New Year’s sobbing at my overdraft and eating Tesco value baked beans for every meal.

The Americans have thought this through. They have thanksgiving at the end of November. A nationwide family gathering where presents aren’t exchanged and cards aren’t bought. Everybody wins but the turkey. A staggering 46 millions turkeys get eaten in the USA each year at Thanksgiving. It’s a feathered genocide; 2 words I can’t imagine putting next to each other in many other contexts. It’s also the biggest evidence so far against evolution. Surely if the birds could evolve they’d have started migrating in October by now?

This mass consumption of gobblers means that people only start to think of Christmas when December arrives, and so none of the joy is lost.

By the time Christmas arrives here I’m all Christmassed out. Cracking and eating nuts has lost its novelty value, can’t stand the sight of tinsel, I’ll punch you in the face if you offer me another mince pie.

Each year Christmas seems to creep further and further back. Soon I’ll be eating Stollen in June, next year putting the tree up in March, to the point where I’ll be out buying things in December for the Christmas the year after.

Anyway, I must dash, there’s only 75,318 minutes left until the big day.

Stealing your soul, everyday

Supermarkets are shit. Travel to anyplace, at any time, speaking in any language and you’ll come to the same conclusion.

Ask an assistant in your local Asda what in season vegetables they have that will complement your black bream fillets, and they’ll most likely just point in the way of the fruit and veg section, whilst muttering to themselves ‘complement a bream? Vegetables can’t talk ... idiot.’

Ask the butcher in Tesco the best way to cook a brisket joint and watch them follow your lips moving, whilst starting vacantly, before moving onto the next customer and starting the whole procedure again. Rejoin the queue, ask them again and repeat the process continuously. After an hour or so you’ll be witness to a full mental breakdown.

On a side note. A butcher butchers. A market trader trades. Following this train of thought, a fishmonger mongs. What is monging? And why are the only two things you can mong, for a living at least, fish and iron?

Supermarkets specialise in food, and yet their entire staffs seem to consist of people who know absolutely nothing about food. Having worked in a supermarket myself, I’m aware that the requirements for the job are rather low. Surely asking a little knowledge about the store’s specialisation wouldn’t hurt?

Imagine going to a car showroom to ask an assistant how many miles to the gallon a Fiesta does, only for them to respond, ‘don’t know mate, I don’t like driving myself.’

Where possible I buy from markets. The food is cheaper, better quality and sold by people who actually know what they’re talking about, mainly because they care. If they don’t please then they don’t make money.

The other day I drove to Oldham market on my lunch break. Once a thriving community hub, now it resembles the scene of a local environmental disaster with everybody relocated. There were 4 stalls open, a stray dog and a hoard of giant mutant ants.

Even with such a sparse environment there was a charge to park. 80p for up to half an hour! I wanted to walk 20 yards to buy some fruit before walking back, and for the pleasure I had to pay 80p. The reason for Tesco’s domination of the grocery market revealed: free parking.

I was tempted to not pay, but an officer patrolled round patting a bat into his open palm. I was going to wonder how many people have to park before his wage is paid, but he didn’t look happy that I would even dare to think on his territory, so I just put the sticker in my window and hurried to the stalls.

I avoided the ants and a few stray tumbleweeds, but the dodging was worth it. Standing alone in the centre of the now deserted, once proud, country famous Tommyfield market was an oasis of edible delights.

The market stall was everything a food stall should be; rammed full of seasonal, locally grown produce, mixed with a selection of imports to choose from. The stall holder was a friendly bearded man, who took great pleasure in recommending various herbs that would go well with my vegetables. The food was well labelled and was a representation of the man selling it; a British Asian with a clear love for hot food, judging by the 7 varieties of chillies on offer in a multitude of difference shapes and sizes.

Proof that you shouldn't play with your food.

I was in my element, surrounded by great foods and somebody who could help me utilise them. It was a place that would be one of many in days gone by, and yet this champion of quality produce is facing a real struggle. His customer base was low before, but now the council, in their infinite wisdom, have charged people to park next to the market, reducing his income still further. People are expected to pay 80p just for the right to give him trade.

As so often in these cases the answers are infuriatingly simple. Scrap car park charges for people parking for under half an hour, and reduce rental rates on the market for food stall holders. The market is dead. It makes no money anyway, probably loses it considering they pay for somebody to ensure that nobody shops at their stalls. Slashing rental rates and removing parking fees will get people into the market, attracting shoppers and traders.

I can’t see it happening though. I reckon most of the councillors were trained by Tesco.