I LOVE the British Press

A quick one today to say that, as mentioned, I LOVE the British press. On Friday, rather fittingly since it was Burns Night, Andy Murray won his semi-final in the Australian open against Roger Federer. Top show. Top show. Why I love the British press (and the Daily Express in particular) is that on Saturday, with suitably jubilant headlines, they took the opportunity of publishing huge photos... of his girlfriend. The man did well but you can't deny, his other half is far, far, far more photogenic. Even girls would agree (except one girl I used to work with who decided Mr Murray was officially HOT when she heard his accent and realised he is Scottish).

Keep it up chaps!

JR

German Christmas Markets

Last winter was a bit of a momentous occasion. Not only did I visit some German Christmas markets with my girlfriend; it was also my first holiday away with the in-laws. A fairly daunting prospect I'm sure you will agree!

Given I have German heritage (my granny was born and brought up in Berlin and I undoubtedly still have relatives there although for various boring family reasons I haven't ever really been in contact with them and probably wouldn't recognise them in the street) I haven't really spent much time in Germany. I certainly haven't been to a Christmas market despite them achieving an iconic status. So it was with a sense of cautious optimism tinged with a slight sense of apprehension that I embarked on the trip.

Things did not start well. We were going by coach and the prospect of 13 hours in transit was not a happy one; less so given that it started at about 6am. It got worse. Rather than taking a direct route, we toured the South of England picking up many, many others along the way. Each time new people got on we were greeted with an overly jocular, "Morning" and some facetious patter that tried to pass for bonhomie. My heart sank. I had a horrible feeling I was aboard a mobile Butlins and we were all expected to be bestest of buddies because we shared the same mode of transport.

The journey improved marginally when we got on the ferry as there was the opportunity for a rest from the people, some scoff and a pint or two. I was rather hoping for some high seas for a bit of fun but sadly the water was flat enough to row on. Never mind.

A good book got me through the rest of the journey and the hotel provided some excellent hearty soup and another beer or two to see me off to sleep nicely.

The next day things got a bit better. People still insisted on greeting everyone like long-lost friends before going into excruciating detail about how much they had eaten at breakfast. Fortunately the thing I was dreading most didn't happen. My biggest fear was that the coach drivers were going to bombard us with every banal fact that could be mustered about our location, the market and anything else they could think of creating an impenetrable wall of white noise that couldn't be escaped. Let's face it; these days everybody has google in their pockets so if we want to know anything we can look it up. This didn't happen. Quite the opposite in fact. The coach drivers were gloriously professional telling us our drop off point, pick up point, pick up time and how to get to the market and nothing else. Well done boys!

Sadly this was spoiled a bit by everyone else frantically commentating on what could be seen out of the window. Apparently everybody but them (plural) had gone blind and needed the audio-description version. The coach echoed to genuinely astonished cries of, "Look, there's a market!". I was having to work VERY hard not to bawl, "Well done dipshit. The holiday was advertised as a tour of German Christmas markets so what the fuck did you expect... a bloody Turkish Bazaar? Perhaps an overly elongated trip to Westfield Stratford? Or maybe, just maybe an excursion to bloody Tesco. Of COURSE it's a fucking Christmas market you cretins!"

My misanthropic streak was not eased by disembarking. I then had to encounter the crowds. Oh the crowds. I don't especially like being manhandled (womanhandled I can cope with). I especially dislike being jostled. In fact if I see it coming I am known to brace myself to provide something of an immobile obstacle just to be awkward. You can imagine then that the alleys between the stalls which had capacity for, at most, half the number of people that were actually inhabiting them was great fun. One particular highlight was the people who seemed to think that stalls had only been properly viewed when EVERY item on it had been in some way physically fondled and in the process either body-blocked the entire stall or moved into my eye-line just as I was seeing something I rather fancied buying. AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I digress. Despite the above rant, I had an absolutely magical time (and this isn't written just in case my girlfriend stumbles across the blog!). Genuinely, I thought it was wonderful. Everywhere I looked, there was a certain picture-postcard feel that I usually get in St. Andrews. The atmosphere was genuinely festive as well. Everybody was smiling and cheery and the spot the silliest hat competition I had going on internally kept me amused for hours. I will admit, most of the stuff on sale was absolute and unmitigated tat but it was pretty tat and I was parted with not insubstantial sums of my hard-earned pittance in exchange for it. There were also some absolute gems there too and I did manage to get some wonderful Christmas presents. Between all of us we also managed to amass quite a collection of mulled wine mugs (sorry anyone reading in Germany, I am translating for a British audience AND - crucially - my computer doesn't have an umlaut on it!). Sadly neither of the ladies in the party drink alcohol so it fell to my girlfriend's father and me to drink the lot. Tough life!

In previous posts I have written about how much I hate feeling like a tourist and I have to say, one of the best things about this trip is that I really didn't. I'm not going to spin you some sentimental bollocks about 'coming home', I don't feel a particular connection to my German roots but that said I didn't feel out of place. This is probably partly due to the fact that the German Christmas markets are so internationally famous that there is a fairly cosmopolitan crowd there but we did venture off the beaten track and into the cities. It probably helped that we all spoke varying levels of German and I like to think earned the respect of the locals for giving it a go (despite knowing we were making complete tits of ourselves). My love of protein (meat), carbohydrate (bread) and fat (cheese) also marked me out as being ideal to feast on standard German fare and I made sure to do so with gusto. Apart from the standard sausages with some of the best mustard I've ever tasted, a particular favourite was a giant hash brown with apple puree. Yum!

So in short, would I advise someone I knew (and liked) to go on one of these trips. Of course, without hesitation. It was great fun (despite the previous rant). I would caution anyone doing so that you are unlikely to find anything vastly different from the Christmas markets that are springing up around the UK so if it's just a shopping trip you want then head to Hyde Park. What it can't replicate though is the experience and the atmosphere and for that I would urge you, go to Germany in the run up to next Christmas.

JR

Immortal Memory 2013

Evening all. Here is a rather belated immortal memory for Burn's night (I have decided to make it into something of a tradition). Sorry it's a bit late. Uncharacteristically, I was actually doing stuff!

It's that time of year again when we are celebrating the birthday of Robert Burns; Scotland's national poet. Again I am going to take the opportunity to examine why we do this. my post on the subject last year focused on celebrating greatness. This year  I am going to take another tack and suggest that in Burns night, we celebrate the ordinary.

Being ordinary seems a bit of an odd characteristic to celebrate but I think it's worthwhile. Burns was a fairly normal Scottish bloke (excluding the successful poetry leading to well... an immortal memory). However in being ordinary, he exemplified large swathes of the Scottish character and for this, we use him as a vehicle to celebrate Scotland and Scottishness.

So what are these characteristics we celebrate annually? Well firstly, he was hard-working. If you had a look at his CV, it would be extensive ranging from menial farm work to tax collection. Now a lot of Scots are known as tough, sturdy and not averse to a bit of graft. Unlike some, hard work doesn't scare us. What's impressive is that, as well as the day job, he wrote so extensively as well.

Secondly, he was a poet. This, to me, indicates profound romance of the soul. Indeed, when you are surrounded by the true, undeniable beauty of the Scottish countryside, it is easy to imagine one's mind and heart being filled with love and passion. If  that isn't good enough, he had a reputation for a love of liquor and women in great quantities too. Holding a drink while being suave and attractive are traits that come easily to most Scottish men I know (hopefully including yours truly). Despite this, we are usually big softies at heart.

Perhaps the best example of this link between Burns and Scottish character comes in my last example. The celebration of Burns night is the celebration of the Scottish tradition of hospitality, warmth and friendliness (to those we want to be friendly to). The warmth and fun atmosphere of a ceilidh (literal translation from the gaelic being gathering) is a great example of this. We have a long tradition of spending time together; sharing food, a few drams, stories, poetry, music and dancing. In fact pretty much everything that happens at a Burns supper.

So with that I urge you to don yer kilt, have some haggis and raise a dram to the immortal memory of Robert Burns.

Sliante

JR

Strictly Come Dancing.

As a rule, I really dislike television "talent" contests. At first I was put off by the idea of watching other people humiliate themselves in front of a huge audience. Rather than amusement, I just felt sorry for them. I also find the trait in the human psyche of laughing at others deeply distasteful. My view of them was not enhanced by reading Ben Elton's book, "Chart Throb"; a thinly-veiled parody of various ITV talent shows. I know this book is fiction but the cynicism of the producer characters is all to easy to believe. You will therefore be unsurprised to read that, generally, I have avoided watching these shows at all costs. (Although I will state for the record now that I have seen the odd episode of most of them for various reasons).

There is one exception to this rule. Strictly Come Dancing. I'm not going to lie, the only reason I started watching it was because the model Jodie Kidd was one of the competitors. There then followed a hiatus of a couple of years until I met my girlfriend. She is a huge fan of the show and so gradually I drifted back into watching it and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The main reason I like it is because I watch it and think, "Good god I could never do that!" and it's true. Even in the first week, the contestants move in ways that I am dimly aware that the human body is capable of moving but have no idea how to make happen. My hips for example don't wiggle and trying to get my legs to do one thing while my arms do another is a recipe for injury both to myself and to those around me. Therefore I am genuinely impressed when otherwise novices stand up and get on with it after only brief (albeit intensive) training. Seeing the skill that is obtained by the end of the competition is, to me at least, hugely impressive (far more so than say, forming yet another manufactured boy/girl band).

Another thing I like about the show is that it appears constructive rather than destructive. By that I mean the scenes shot backstage focus very much on a team mentality with the competitors urging each other on and supporting each other rather than focussing on "Their dreams". Some may say that this diminishes the competitive aspect but I disagree; i think it is not only possible but desirable to remain on good terms with one's rivals. I suppose part of this could be due to the fact that the competitors have all achieved a measure of success in their chosen fields before appearing on Strictly therefore it's not the battle for the Z list that some of the other shows have turned into.

The judging of the show continues this theme. Rather than being directly insulting or offering a hyperbolic load of rubbish, the judges generally offer genuine feedback (not always to the pleasure of the watching audience). Yes, Craig Revel-Horwood has a bit of a pantomime villain persona to play up to but if you actually listen to what he's saying, most of it is fair and constructive. Similarly Len Goodman, playing the favourite uncle, can be quite harsh while never being unfair. Darcey Bussel was my favourite this year and not just for her stunning good looks. As well as offering honest pointers about errors, she also took the time to give fairly detailed advice on how to improve. Ultimately, and this is a more global point, this is a good example of what criticism should be; balanced and offering suggestions for improvement.

Of course another big draw of Strictly is Sir Bruce Forsyth; a true icon of Saturday evening light entertainment. Although his jokes are uniformly cringe-worthy and his script sometimes resembles a game of spot the catchphrase, he is still wonderful. He is still remarkably light on his feet and it is impressive watching him dancing at the start of the show... except when the dance is gangnam style! In a way, he reflects a lot of what about the show in that he is light-hearted, funny (just about) and has more than a trace of self-parody about him.

If all of the above aren't reason enough to like the show then the abundance of pretty girls in skimpy outfits more than make up the difference.

The most recent series may have ended but already I am quietly looking forward to the next one.

JR

Boffins

There are some words in the English language that I can't stand. Some I don't like because of how the sound (strange I know), some I dislike because they are absolutely meaningless and finally there are some that I dislike because of what they stand for. The word "boffin" fits nicely into the last category.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it!

I think I've made my feelings clear.

We've all seen it used before. There's a programme on telly, usually at prime time, and as soon as something vaguely technical happens, the (ludicrously dumbed-down) explanation is preceded with, "Boffins tell us!". The image conjured up, and no doubt intended, is one of a lonely mad scientist sitting alone in his lab (or shed) counting test tubes while everyone else is getting on with life. A sad billy-no mates who, because he (and we're going with s. 1 of the Interpretation Act and reading the masculine as feminine also) is into science, obviously has no other interests what so ever and can only derive satisfaction from data generation.

As I have said before, my first degree was in Human Biology. In some small way, I call myself a scientist and am extremely proud to do so. Science as a field is cool: yes I know I sound like some camp GCSE recruitment poster but I genuinely believe that. Not just the field I chose to study either (although, obviously that's the most interesting of the lot) but more generally than that. How can people not be interested in the way the world works. I don't necessarily mean gaining a detailed understanding of the finer points of all branches of science but taking away a rough grasp. The basics really aren't hard, especially if you're prepared to open you're mind a bit.

When I was younger I did some tutoring of special needs kids in my school giving them one to one help with their science. I was originally supposed to be helping out generally but when the special needs department found out about my passion and background in science, a lot of that was delegated to me since a lot of them came from arts backgrounds. I am pleased to say that I opened the eyes of a lot of the kids I was tutoring to science and gave them genuine enthusiasm, Their grades went through the roof as well and we all got a lot out of it.

In the wider world, Prof. Brian Cox is doing a lot to popularise astrophysics. Undoubtedly his boyband looks help as does his generally endearing nature. Dara O'Brien is also doing his bit by adding a popular face (he himself studied physics so has understanding as well as an ability to present). This is a good start but we need more. Scientists are still largely classified as a bunch of geeks who are not really in touch with the world as others see it. This is of course rubbish and needs to change.

On a related note, if any TV or radio producers are reading this and fancy making a human biology series with a handsome(ish) front man with subject knowledge and infectious enthusiasm... give me a shout.

JR

Doggy Tails

As you may have guessed from some of my previous posts, I'm a bit of a dog lover. In fact I'm on a bit of a canine high at the moment and I thought I would share some dog-related anecdotes with you from the last month or so.

One of the main reasons for this is that not only did my girlfriend's parent's dog get involved in Christmas; he stayed with us as the hotel her parents were staying in didn't allow dogs (cretins). It was absolutely wonderful having a dog around all the time. Although my girlfriend makes a mess and moults it's not quite the same! He seemed to enjoy himself too, especially as he knows we're stupidly indulgent when it comes to him. As such he had the run of the sofas, chair and bed naturally. We did try to get him to sleep in his basket for the first night but the big eyes staring at us over the edge of the bed soon melted us. After that he was on the bed (although slightly put our when he found himself scruffed and relocated to the bottom of the bed from my pillow... we do have some standards).

The doggy feeling was enhanced over Christmas when I received a copy of, "It's All About Treo" as a Christmas present. This tells the story of a British Army explosives search dog (and his handler) on tour in Afghanistan. The book is moving and exciting in equal measures. It is also unintentionally funny. The image of loads of huge, hairy-arsed squaddies in full battle kit going all gooey over a dog is a wee bit amusing.

The local animal sanctuary where I volunteer has also provided me with a couple of laughs. I was out with one bug staffy who did NOT like getting her paws wet. Under normal circumstances this would not be a huge issue but given my local area had been suffering from severe flooding there was a lot of water around. About 90% of the area I was in consisted of thin mud. For the most part, bribed by treats, she deigned to tiptoe round most of the walk but then we came to a big obstacle. A local stream had buts its banks and flooded over the path and up to the wall next to it. To make matters worse, the flood included a fence and style crossing. I went through the flood first making a big show of walking through it and not getting wet above my ankles to show the dog how shallow it was but did she move? Not a chance. A few firm tugs on the lead did nothing to move her and treats only managed to get her to the first step on the style. Further she would not go (apparently she was afraid of heights too). Eventually my only option was to pick her up and heave her over myself. At first she looked a bit perplexed to find herself in the air but quickly she got the hang of the idea of being carried. By the end of the manoeuvre she was really rather enjoying herself.

The dog in the next story suffered no such qualms about getting wet. In fact she rather enjoyed it; that was the problem. No puddle was left un-jumped in. When we arrived at the local stream she went nose-first in. This was to be her undoing as the normally shallow stream had morphed into a good-going river with the flood water. Quickly the dog found herself significantly out of her depth and was none too pleased about it (well if the expression on her face was anything to go by). Fortunately yours truly kicked into David Hasslehoff mode and dragged her out by the lead before she had properly realised she was in trouble and she was back on terra firma in no time although she did look rather bedraggled.

My final doggy story, and probably the best one of all, also comes from the sanctuary. I know one isn't supposed to have favourites but I have one. He's a big bull mastiff cross with an eye condition and a bald spot. Despite his brutal looks, he is a big softie. I joke that he's so gentle he barely bites his food so as you can imagine he's great with people. One of his favourite activities is being cuddled. This dog and I have formed a real bond over the last couple of months. We have spent a lot of time exploring the local woods, fields and streams. His stock rose even more when he was introduced to my girlfriend and got on famously with her. Just before Christmas I found out that he had been adopted. While I'm more than a little sad I won't be seeing him again, I am absolutely delighted for him. I am so pleased he is going to a home where he can be loved (and spoiled) until his heart's content. The last time I saw him I think he knew what was happening. He made even more of a fuss of me than usual. It was a truly fond farewell.

Right, that's all my canine news Sorry if you're not a dog lover and found the last few paragraphs dull.

JR

What's in a Name?

I've been thinking about names recently. This has been brought on by starting a new job and my subsequent battle to learn the names of my colleagues. What adds another layer of complexity to this is the subject of nicknames and the etiquette of addressing people by them. Now obviously there are some that are absolutely fine; they are usually abbreviations of standard first names which appear on name tags and are universally used. Where I get a bit more uncomfortable is when the nicknames aren't so obvious. One in particular I'm thinking of is a corruption of the individual's sirname. It's not in the least offensive or controversial but at the same time I don't really feel comfortable using it - well not until I've been invited to at least.

Part of this stems from my own name. My "formal" name as I will now refer to it appears on my birth certificate. It's not in the least unusual, embarrassing and I actually rather like it. However since I can remember, parents and friends have referred to me by another name; not exactly an abbreviation but an informal version of my birth certificate name. Again I don't have a problem with that. I do however have a problem with some of the common abbreviations of my name. I can't put my finger on why, they just grate on me and I don't particularly like them. Generally I won't kick up a huge fuss if the abbreviations are used but I will ask whoever used it to desist.

Now here's where it gets confusing. Up until I was about 17, I was pretty much universally known by the informal version of my name. The only documents that had my formal name were my birth certificate, passport and driving licence. Even at school I was known by the informal version. This changed (a bit) when I got to Uni. I made the application in my formal name because I thought that was more appropriate. An ID check was also required so applying in my formal name removed a potential administrative hurdle.

Fairly quickly, as a way of breaking down social barriers, I invited people who I was friends with to use the informal version of my name. It sounds really pompous I know but it wasn't intended to be and I don't think it came across as such but it was a good way to generate a bit of informality. This generated a slightly odd situation where fairly soon I became known by my informal name off duty and my formal name in an academic context.

With me so far?

A few years later I moved down south. At this point I became known almost exclusively by my formal name. This was largely due to the fact that I was rarely in informal social situations. it also had a large part to do with the fact that I spent a lot of time with people who didn't speak English as a first language and who struggled to pronounce the informal version of my name (that and the fact that in some cultures it's androgynous and in others it's a female name). It is now how I'm almost universally known south of the border. It has created a slightly strange situation where half my really close friends know me by one name and half by another. Stranger still, my girlfriend knows me by my formal name (although that's partially due to the fact that her grandmother's dog was also known by my informal name).

Where am I going with this? Essentially I understand that some people are known almost exclusively by nicknames as I have been in the past but, as I've got older, I have become a bit uncomfortable with people using my accepted nickname without invitation. The over familiarity grates a bit; especially if I don't like the person! Therefore I am very wary of using nicknames of others, especially at work where the emphasis is very definitely on formality.

In the mean time I will sign off with an (assumed) nickname.

JR

Quartet... A Must See

I saw 'Quartet' the other day. If you take away one message from this post then take away this; go and see it, it's wonderful.

Ok for a bit of background. Quartet is set in an idyllic English country house which poses as a home for retired musicians. The plot such as it is, is following the build up to an annual gala performance by the residents to celebrate Verdi's birthday and raise funds for the running of the home. A large part of the action follows the rehearsals for the show.

So far I've made it sound drier than a temperance bar in the Sahara. It's safe to say the plot is not the film's strongest point; not by a long chalk. Given the fact that the story is about musicians, you would be forgiven for thinking that the soundtrack is where it really shines. But again no. Don't get me wrong, the soundtrack has some magnificent works played beautifully. My big criticism of it would be that it tended to be devoted to popular sound-bites which is all well and good but, to my mind, a wee bit unsatisfying.

What really made it was the casting. It was truly tremendous. Given it was a film about retired musicians, I was pleased to see a number of actual musicians in the cast who have had distinguished careers in outfits like the Royal Opera House or the BBC symphony orchestra. Michael Gambon gave a wonderful performance as the temperamental and histrionic producer of the whole show, the "Artiste" if you will.

However there were two performances that shone out like beacons from all the rest. First up was Dame Maggie Smith. Admittedly she played a slightly fluffier version of her Downtun Abbey character; plenty wry and barbed comments all round, but she did it wonderfully and had a truly brilliant stage presence.

However to my mind there was one star of the show. Despite the fact that the collective awards and accolades achieved by the cast could fill a museum, the one true star was Billy Connelly. He absolutely stole the show and then some. He was playing for laughs and got them in spades. His character was cheeky, warm, rougish, funny, thoughtful, outrageous and rude. In short, the Big Yin to a 'T'. Well a mildly modified version at least - it was quite a shock seeing his chin for the first time in about 20 years. His antics lifted the whole thing from what could have been a bit maudlin and nostalgic to a bright and fresh film.

Honourable mention should also be given to Sheradin Smith who plays the home's manager.She has come a long way since her days as an ultra-chav in "Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps". She also put in a lovely and warm performance. Credit to her, she held her own amongst many giants of stage and screen proving nicely that she's more than just a bit of eye candy (although she does that rather well too).

Like I said in the title... and the first sentence; go and see it. Take your friends, take your partners, take your parents. This really is one for everyone to enjoy. The ending is a bit on the saccharine side but that was to be expected from the start. I think the entire population of the cinema left walking on air and exuding a warm glow, it was just that kind of film.

JR

Pizza Express

Currently I am reading a book by the well known food critic Giles Coren. In it, he tours through various styles of cuisine offering his thoughts on it, some anecdotes and some general non-specific advice. When I started it I was worried it was going to be a bit 'foodie' a word I loathe but is the only way to describe the pretentious drivel spouted by some.

It isn't. Not at all. In fact it is a generally light-hearted and amusing look at food and I am enjoying it greatly. Except that is for one bit. In one chapter he roundly slates Pizza Express.

Here I am going to take issue with him. Pizza Express isn't the best food you will ever eat; not even the best pizza even. Nor is it the cheapest. To be honest, even the word 'express' is pushing it a bit. One thing it certainly is however is consistent.

So? Why is consistency a big deal? Well it's good for when you can't be arsed cooking and so decide to grab a bite. You don't necessarily want to challenge yourself, you just want something you know you will enjoy. Sounds bland but there it is.

There is another reason Pizza Express is brilliant. It is, just about, the perfect date restaurant. Think about it; it offers good food but it's not too challenging (in case your date is a fussy eater). Also, the food is good enough to enjoy without feeling you have to be concentrating on it rather than the company. The surroundings are invariably pleasant in and unobtrusive in a way that Pizza Hut isn't. Better still, they have worked out the concept of ambient music that doesn't require a megaphone to make oneself heard. But best of all is the fact that it is cheap enough that even as an impoverished student, one can offer to pay for the whole lot and not be too badly stung in the wallet if she accepts.

All Bar One is in a similar vein. Great if you want somewhere to go for a couple of drinks with the option of suggesting food. It transfers well from bar to eatery, has a range of drinks to suit most tastes, a varied menu ranging from acceptable tapas to a decent burger and a price tag that won't leave one reeling. The only thing with this choice of venue is the music; it can approach cacophonous which is a bit of a double-edged sword. Not so good if you're really trying to get to know the girl but fantastic if she's boring as hell but with really great boobs (sorry girls, couldn't resist)!

Finally in the excellent date venue category I have to recommend a recent discovery; Cafe Rouge. It ticks all of the above boxes of ambiance, quality, price and atmosphere. I know it's as French as I am (i.e. not at all) but as I said above, that's not the point. One feature I particularly like about Cafe Rouge is the menu. While there is significant variety on offer neither the food or the wine menus are long enough to be much of a distraction allowing the evening to flow smoothly and keep the company as the focus.

I know this post is somewhat at odds with my general reticence about chain enterprises but sometimes there are times when high principle needs to take a back seat and enjoyment comes first. I would be interested to hear if anyone else has any similar failsafe places and, if so, what they are.

JR

Boxing Day

So after the trials and tribulations of Christmas day it was fair to say that I was very close to being peopled out. Normally I'm a fan of stillness and calm. Of sitting in my chair listening to the radio, watching TV or reading a good book. So it had been a bit of a challenge having people around me all the time. What made things worse was the near-constant miasma of noise that was going on. JRGF's grandmother especially seemed to think it her responsibility to fill every moment of silence with some form of verbal activity... lot's of comments on the weather then! What was worse still was when we were allegedly watching something (by mutual consent rather than me being antisocial) to the tune of conversation over the top. I struggle following conversations at the best of time so having people natter  over whatever is being watched drives me slightly insane.

It was therefore with no small degree of trepidation that I embarked on a journey to JRGF's aunt's place on boxing day. Family tradition dictated that JRGF and her parents descended on her aunt along with her cousins, the cousin in law and the two kids. As I was in the area with my family, we were invited too.

Now before I sound too misanthropic I should state that I get on famously with all the in-laws (they took pity on me after some mass introductions) so ordinarily such an occasion would sound appealing. But as I mentioned, my sociability levels were beginning to flag. Not only that but I was aware dad gets even more tired of people than I do. JRGF's cousins kids are generally lovely kids but if they were in a bad mood I could see dad and I finally going over the edge.

Fortunately the kids were on form. We were treated to a rousing rendition of 'Gangnam Style' from them along with the traditional Christmas Carols. JRGF's aunt also put on a stunning show with the catering... We were stuffed. The beer was flowing pleasantly quickly too.

There was just one fly in the ointment. The conversation. It was the same one that had been had at least three times over the last two days. How's work? What is it you're doing again? How was your trip down? Did you enjoy Christmas dinner? etc ad infinitum. Dull. Boring. Tedious. Banal. Rubbish. I know it's the polite thing to do. A necessary evil. A dance to which we all know the steps but that day I did not feel like dancing them.

Normally I regard myself as 'clubable' for want a better term. Very amiable and able to make polite chatter. This means I generally enjoy the company of *ahem* older people. However, like I say, that day I was finding it all a bit much so I did something rather out of character. I retired to the kitchen with the "young ones" - JRGF's cousin and his three cousins (two girls and a guy all under 25). We chatted shit, got leathered and had a riotously good time. What really amused me was the five year old lad feeling all grown up because we'd given him apple juice in a pint glass and put a splash of lemonade in to make it look like beer telling JRGF's mother to, "Go away, we're having man talk!"

Over all, despite the poor beginnings it turned into a rather good day. And apparently I snored like a trooper all the way home. I blamed it on the dog!

JR

So that was Christmas

Good morning, afternoon, evening... whatever time of day it happens to be when you're reading this. Sorry for the lack of posting in the last wee while. The next few posts should go some way to explaining why that was.

As you may or may not have noticed, it's been Christmas recently. The cards, tinsel and endless Slade in most shops is a bit of a give-away. Now during this period I become a bit of a grinch. I can't bloody stand all the hype, noise, crowds and general crassness. That said I'm not fundamentally anti-Christmas either. Although I don't subscribe to the religious aspect of it, I enjoy the pretext to spend lots of time with those I care about and shamelessly indulge myself all the while. I enjoy the random nights in the pub with friends that I don't see nearly enough of. I like the challenge of buying Christmas presents and the pleasure that well-chosen ones bring. I just wish it wasn't forced upon us by shops with quite as much gusto.

Anyway, I digress. The main point of this post was to update you on my Christmas. This year was the first year I did Christmas out of Scotland. It was also the first time I have ever hosted Christmas dinner. And just to make the day even more relaxing, it was the day that my girlfriend and I chose to introduce both sets of parents.

Ok now for the back story. JRGF and I have been together for about two and a quarter years now and formally moved in together about six months ago (having virtually lived with each other for about nine months preceding that). For various reasons, spending Christmas together over the last few years has been impossible and so be it but this year neither of us were mad keen to spend it apart. This was fine apart from the small issue of parents. I didn't want to miss Christmas with my parents a) because I just didn't but more importantly b) because I know my dad doesn't keep particularly well and I'm acutely conscious that he may not have that many left. In the case of JRGF, her mother would have blown several blood vessels at the thought of not having her over Christmas. So it was decided that the path of least resistance was to have them both over to hours... plus JRGF's granny... and the dog (naturally). So no pressure then.

All this sounds terribly cynical. In truth everybody had a wonderful day. Both sets of parents seemed to get on well and JRGF's granny was delighted that my mother grew up in a similar area to her so they could have a good old chat about "the old days". The dog loved all the attention (and the substantial amounts of turkey it got fed), the lunch was a roaring success and everybody liked their presents. Happy days.

That was the official (and sanitised) version. Now for a bit more truth. It is true to say that the two mothers got on like a house on fire which was lovely. The trouble is that they engaged in seriously competitive mothering. This meant that cups of coffee were snatched out of hands, washed and dried before the coffee in question had been properly finished. That wasn't all. It also resulted in the turkey being cooked by committee. Now I'm reasonably able in the kitchen and usually it is a place of calm where I am in complete control and tasty food emerges a wee while later. Therefore having two fussing, middle-aged women (sorry but that's the best description) offering me "helpful tips" the whole time sent my blood pressure skywards. Now it's possible to tell one's own mother to bugger off and leave one to it but try doing that to the mother in law. Eventually I took it on the chin, poured a generous measure of whisky into my coffee and tried to keep them both occupied while I got on with the core business.

Before I sound too ungrateful, I will point out that offers of help were accepted. We were only meant to be cooking the main course. We tried to organise it so that one mother brought the starters and the other brought the desserts (and with all the dietary requirements and proclivities of those around the table both were a substantial task) however naturally each brought one of their non-allocated course, "Just to be safe". Argh... the car boot was stuffed with sweets and puddings because the fridge had long surpassed it's carrying capacity. Another large scotch in the coffee and a nip extra rum in the mulled wine too... coz it's Christmas.

Fortunately, like I say, the meal was a roaring success. Doubly so since a) I wasn't in full control and b) because it's the first time in a very long time I've cooked a full roast. It was nice to see everyone getting along (for the most part). The dog also was a lifesaver. Not only did he provide a willing focus for attention to break any awkward silences, he also provided me with an excuse to get five minutes peace and quiet by taking him for a walk. The poor bugger was absolutely sparked out by the end of the day; he must have walked miles. Well it was either that or take up smoking for the first time in my life.

The day was marred a bit by JRGF unilaterally inviting someone over just at the point in the day where a last drink should be being poured, shoes be kicked off and general lethargy and relaxation setting in. The mandatory big budget TV series was about to start and I was ready to spend an hour or so staring vacantly and the box. It hurt a bit that my wishes were so totally disregarded in my own bloody house but the night was saved a) by the in-laws calling it a night and heading back to their hotel naturally bringing the night to a close and b) JRGF being in a similar mind-set to me and so making it clear that peace and quiet was the order of the day. At least it was a chance to (rather pointedly) catch up with e-mails and text messages on my phone.

Anyway, that was Christmas 2012. I will update you on Boxing day next... a whole new kettle of fish that one.

For now I will sign off.

JR

Happy New Year

Happy New Year one and all. I hope it's a healthy and prosperous one (and the hangover from last night isn't too bad). More posts to come in the next couple of weeks.

JR