The Compostual Existentialist

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Christmas Music – Day 4 of 24

Rocking’ Around the Christmas Tree – Mel & Kim

This didn’t get enough air time. Something to do with someone having Parkinson’s Disease putting up a Christmas tree…I think…

Anyway, Mel Smith behaves inappropriately with Kim Wilde by being suggestive and lewd. Back in the day I suppose it might have been acceptable. These days…no….

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Christmas Music – Day 3 of 24

Santa Claus is Coming to Town – Various Artists

Screen Shot 2014-12-03 at 18.30.41So some creepy old guy with a beard and a beer belly is stalking your kids. He watches them when they sleep and knows when they’re awake. Worse, he has compiled a list containing your children’s behavioural difficulties which he checks frequently. And yet you still don’t report his suspicious activities to the police!

No. You give him alcohol and cake and dress your houses up with icons devoted to his form.

And you wonder why the world is so fucked up?

 


Christmas Music – Day 2 of 24

I Wish it Could Be Christmas Everyday – Wizzard

Wizzard

No that’s not Rick Wakeman on flute….

This song is the only song people will remember Wizzard for. It’s been in the charts at least 9 times since its release in 1973. Most importantly though I chuffin’ hate this song. The day I never hear this song ever again will be the best day ever. Really. I mean who really wishes it could be Christmas everyday? You? If so, seek help. Can you imagine? Christmas everyday?

For a start the only shops that would be open would be the 24 hour garage and the corner shop. None of which have a great deal of stock so you’d soon run out of turkey and don’t be thinking one of those crap windmills they sell or a pack of playing cards will pass off as a good present for long.

You’d soon get sick of those relatives that only show their faces at Christmas too. Imagine seeing them every day. Coming round pretending not to be on the sniff for a Christmas dinner or a begrudged gift.

Then theres the economy. Sure no trains or buses will run and most businesses are closed but who will pay for the power generation? Where will the money for the taxes come from?

If it was Christmas everyday, the world would grind to a halt, murders would increase and within 12 months the global economy would collapse resulting in devastation, disease and death everywhere.

And there’s only a very slim chance it’ll snow too….

Remember that when you listen to this bollocks.


Christmas Music – Day 1 of 24

It’s Cliched to be Cynical (at Christmas) – Half Man Half Biscuit 

Christmas treeAh Christmas! That time of year when the shops force you to buy stuff you don’t need to give to people who aren’t necessarily thankful. That time of year when it gets a bit nippy and the nights get darker. That time of year when, no matter where you go, you are forced to listen to bloody awful music on repeat. Over and over and over and over and over.

Last year I went on a cruise. It was a lovely cruise. I saw lots of the Caribbean. I saw my brother, his wife and my niece. I was nice and warm. Tropical you might say. But there is something weird about going to a hot part of the world when you are from a cooler part of the world. Especially at Christmas. It feels like August. It looks like August. But there’s Christmas trees and Christmas music blaring out wherever you go on the ship. Which makes it feel like you’ve sailed into some weird Twilight Zone.

As you can imagine I was subjected to all of the Christmas songs from the past 40 years or so. For 14 days. All day. If it wasn’t for the company, the scenery and the endless food and drink, I probably would have picked up one of the sun loungers, fashioned a crude weapon and systematically started bumping off the entire ship.

Sadly, the one song that didn’t play was today’s entry. Last year in the Composts I moaned a fair bit about Christmas.  I feel that sometimes it takes someone or something to remind us not to be such a misery guts. This song does that so, if you ever feel ever so cynical about the season, you should listen to this. It’s my second most favourite Christmas song.  I think is quite apt.


Click here to read the intro to this series 

 


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Christmas Music – Intro

Christmas eh? That period of enforced shopping and spending.

There was a time when Christmas meant nipping down to the local church, doing a few carols with a mug of warm mulled wine before giving up and having a sing a long in the local pub round the old Joanna.

These days Christmas is heralded by gaudily dressed shops in November and incessant repetition of God awful Christmas pop from the previous 40 years.

Long term readers will recall that I wrote about Christmas music last year (and even then before that!) during the Bah Humbug series. But Christmas music needs a whole series to itself. For the next 24 days, I will be selecting and discussing a Christmas song from across the decades. Some you will be familiar with, others probably not. So, in the interests of tradition, I give you:

The Existential Compost/Compostual Existentialist Christmas Advent Series 2014

These will be cross posted to Livejournal, the Music Project, Blogspot and to WordPress.


Remember remember the time when Britain nearly became a republic again.

The times were hard. The King, an absolute tyrant. People were hauled from their homes by swat teams of government troops, tried in mockeries of the court and executed. Purely because of their beliefs and ideals.

One group of prominent English men had had enough. The king and his tyranny must go. The last time they had done this ended in regicide. The Kings replacement, a religious nutter who made fun illegal. This time it had to be just right.

Only it went wrong. Their plot was discovered, the plotters executed and tortured in a way that made Guantanamo look like a week in Butlin’s. Their failed act of blowing up the King and his sympathisers forever commemorated in British memory. Guy Fawkes night. Bonfire night or Firework night.

Crucially, the day is remembered for the failed plot and the continued reign of the tyrannical monarchy. The one last attempt to rid the land of an unelected head of state. A celebration of the fact the plot failed. But how would Britain have faired if it hadn’t failed? Would the empire ever have risen? Would the world have been a different place? Of course it would.

We will never know of course.


Sunny Days

As the sun gets stronger through the year and the days get warmer and brighter, our thoughts turn to outdoor pursuits. Walking, picnicing, nose picking, porn foraging and, most popular of all, barbecues.

Now, I’ve got a thing about barbecues. I used to love ’em. Nuked meat Russian roulette. You either get a charcoal cinder or a black and crusty raw and bloody surprise. Love em.

However these days I realise the horror of having barbecues. The hours of slaving over red hot coals ensuring your guests have ample mountains of food (most of which you’ll either under or over accommodate for) knocking back beer after beer in an attempt to keep up with the guests who are getting merrier by the minute because they are sat down in comfort while you serve their every whim.

Then you get to sit down. You get the cold soggy left over bits that nobody wanted. The suspicious looking burger. The dodgy looking kebab. The insidious looking chicken wings or quarters that will no doubt still be raw in the middle even after being on the heat for what seems like 30 years. The limp lettuce. The flaccid overcooked sausages. All the good, tasty looking bits have gone. Your feet ache. You’re not as pissed as everyone else there. It’s clouding over. People are starting to make “Lets go home now” motions.

Yeah. Thats fun.

Isn’t it?

No. The thing I like about barbecues is going. Sitting there while my host slaves over hot coals. Getting merrier and merrier because I’m sat down chatting old toot with the other guests. Getting plied with food, nibbles and drink by my host and his/her partner. Relaxing. Enjoying the time. Getting the nice juicy steak. The right looking sausages, the burgers that don’t look too over or under done. The chicken pieces that aren’t still squarking. Getting them all for myself. Leaving the other less attractive bits to the chef or what other poor sod turns up just before I get to go home.

Then once my gizzard is full and I am fully sated with beer and meat. I can then yawn. Make some shit excuse about having an early morning, and go home. Leaving the host to clear up.

Yeah. I like barbecues.