In his Christmas Day column, Dan Hodges invites us to look out of our nearest window and tell him what we see. He isn’t doing this out of voyeuristic curiosity, of course, but rather to make a point:
We see what we choose to see when we look outside. And at the moment, when we look out the window, we are choosing to see a world that scares us. Collectively. As a country. As a people.
This was the year that we become an agoraphobic nation. The year that the trembling upper lip officially replaced the stiff upper lip. The year that fear became our constant companion; paranoia our trusted friend.
Hodges goes on to argue that on a whole range of fronts – terrorism, immigration, Ebola, Evil Corporations, Westminster Elites, paedophile grooming gangs and crazy, swivel-eyed Ukippers – the British people are retreating in the face of difficulty, burying our heads in the sand and failing to confront pressing problems or take positive steps to secure our future. And he is right, up to a certain point – numerous difficult issues have swirled around us during the hectic political year of 2014, and yet we have made precious little progress in dealing with any of them.
Brass musicians from the Salvation Army play the Christmas carol “As with gladness, men of old” and raise donations on the concourse at London’s Liverpool Street station during the morning rush hour.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for reading, commenting and encouraging me in my writing and journalism over the course of this year, and to wish you, your families and loved ones a very Merry Christmas and a peaceful 2015.
The bleak grey skies, rapidly cooling weather and the incessant rain did tip me off, I must admit. But I was only certain that fall (I’ll stick with autumn, thank you very much) was really upon us when I read this amusing piece by Colin Nissan in McSweeney’s, trumpeting the return of “decorative gourd season”.
He writes:
I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I’m about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.
I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I’m going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, “Aren’t those gourds straining your neck?” And I’m just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, “It’s fall, fuckfaces. You’re either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you’re not.”
I’m glad that someone is expressing excitement about the change of season, albeit satirically. From Semi-Partisan Sam’s perch in London, autumn tends to involve more desperate winter coat purchasing and wondering why only one radiator in the goddamn apartment seems to be working than dusting off seasonal decorations and festooning the place with harvest vegetables and fallen leaves. But to each their own. I assume that autumn enthusiasts must live in places that actually experience a reliably hot and enduring summer every year.
Of course, unlike the United States (which has Halloween and Thanksgiving to look forward to in terms of autumnal – sorry, fall – celebrations) we here in Britain jump straight from summer to Christmas. Indeed, the speed at which the charcoal and barbecue accessories are swept from the supermarket shelves to make room for Christmas ornaments and mince pies with an expiration date in early November is quite astonishing. *
* and unwelcome for those of us who like to continue grilling outside right through the deep midwinter.
Now on sale in our local superstore. In September.
So, here’s wishing a happy fall or Christmas season (depending where you live) to my readers.
Semi-Partisan Politics 