In which I need more than a hand

My wife is a remarkably patient woman. I can go for days without expressing an opinion, infuriating her with phrases like "I'll have whatever you're having", only to react with zero tolerance to the smallest piece of advertising hyperbole. Today she finds me standing on a metaphorical soapbox, channelling the spirit of Tom Paine. "It's the theme for Viva Lewes magazine. They've chosen 'handmade'. I can't write a column about that. I think I'm hyperventilating." Mrs B raises an eyebrow. "Breathe into this", she says, and passes me the paper bag she keeps handy for these occasions. “Anyway, what’s bothering you?”

Well, as far as I'm concerned, 'handmade' is an empty word that's usually hyperspecific or uselessly vague. I'd argue it's as counter-intuitive as 'homemade', which is commonly used by restaurants to indicate that the relevant component of your meal was cooked in their own kitchen. In that sense, 'homemade' is actually meant to reassure us that our food wasn't made in anyone's home.

Similarly, I reckon 'handmade' has little to offer but confusion. To start with, it tells us the product isn't natural. In this sense it's the same as 'man-made' - which is reminiscent of 1970s shirts that generated enough of a static charge for the wearer to shoot electricity from their fingertips like a superhero. 'Handmade' means the item wasn't formed independently by our planet, unlike spring water, kittens and bananas. It's artificial. Yet 'handmade' also warns us that the end product isn't much good. It's not laser-cut to within a fraction of a millimetre. It's not precision engineered on a lathe. It's not been assembled by robots on a computer-controlled production line. Chances are, it's a bit rough around the edges. Artificial and imperfect. It's hardly a recommendation, is it?

Of course, there are exceptions. I'd like my art to be handmade, thank you. (Unless the artist chooses to employ another part of their anatomy.) But I'm not worried if the baker uses a mechanical mixer when making my bread.

I can tell my ranting isn't going down well at home, so I pop out for a walk round the block. On my travels I discover the recently opened and appropriately named ‎Café Ringmer (note the accent), where I order a cappuccino. The woman behind the counter creates my drink with the help of a serious-looking espresso machine. I wonder whether there ought to be a new phrase for 'handmade with the help of technology'. Maybe something sci-fi like 'cyborg-crafted' or 'mecha-enhanced employee' would be a better description. As I sip my coffee, I realise that I don't care about 'handmade'. What I care about is care itself. And if we’re using ‘handmade’ as a synonym for ‘made with care’, I’m perfectly happy with that. Because care is something that only comes from people. Much like opinions, I suppose. I’m sure Mrs B will be delighted that I’ve finally found one.

First published in Viva Lewes magazine issue 107 August 2015

It’s not about the money, money, money

“The true meaning of Christmas”, sings musician and comedian Mitch Benn, “is to eat until it hurts, then drink until it don’t hurt anymore”. I smile each time I think of the words. A little humour makes it easier to survive the merchandising mayhem on our streets, I reckon. The artist Grayson Perry recently talked about protecting his creative spirit with a shield of jaded irony and a sword of cynicism. That sounds like the kind of armour I need for the festive season.

Of course, life wasn’t always non-stop satire. It seems only a few years ago that every church was packed during Midnight Mass. Families would reunite from across the country for dinner on December 25th. Co-workers would put disagreements aside before they left for their Christmas break. But look closer and you’ll see this wasn’t about religion. It was about being together. Community, you might say. A significant number of those Christmas Eve churchgoers had tiptoed into the back of the building with their mates on the way home from the pub. Dry turkey with over-boiled sprouts wasn’t really anyone’s favourite meal but was a great excuse to meet up. And getting your job done is so much simpler if colleagues are actually helping. Besides, that annoying bloke from I.T. may have picked your name on the Secret Santa list.

All this came to mind when Lewes held its late-night shopping evening at the beginning of December. If you listen to the grouches – and I’ll admit I’ve channelled a bit of grouchiness in my time – you’ll soon be convinced that Christmas is nothing but a sales opportunity. TV ads show John the hare buying an alarm clock for Lewis the bear. Privatised postal workers sing of their love for parcels. But that’s not what I saw in town. Instead, I found shops giving away chocolates and mince pies. Friendly faces encouraged me to taste mulled wine and roast chestnuts. I noticed families chatting in restaurants rather than sitting silently in front of the TV. I heard carols, I heard bell-ringing, I heard laughter. I won’t argue that Christmas seemed to have more of a religious theme in the past – and yes, today it appears to have more of a retail focus. But when you rub away the veneer you’ll find the underlying sentiment hasn’t changed. It’s still about people. About caring for each other. And perhaps it’s about a spot of over-indulgence, too.

First published on vivalewes.com 12th December 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/its-not-about-the-money-money-money/

Are we there yet?

"Christmas starts earlier every year". That's become a familiar cry from frazzled parents who have used their entire stock of "wait and see", "Santa only brings presents if you're good" and "ask your father/mother/grandparents" tactics well before 25th December. Certainly we're in the middle of a commercial frenzy at the moment, with TV advertisements pulling at your heartstrings like a tinsel-clad Geoff Capes. But is Christmas really starting earlier?

When I was a teenager, I had a Saturday job working in a toy shop. I was in the male-dominated department that dealt with Airfix kits, Hornby railways, model cars and Star Wars figures. I'd demonstrate electric trains by touching a 9-volt battery against their wheels, which I believed made me look like a worthy adversary to Magneto in the X-Men comics. Come and worship, youngsters. Our Christmas season started in November every year, just as soon as my colleagues round the corner had sold their last box of fireworks. That didn't seem too early, particularly as there'd often be a point when desperate customers needed to wait a week or two for the next delivery of ‘Simon’ from MB Games. (Batteries not included). We wouldn't tape tinsel to the cash registers until around four weeks before the big day but there was no doubting the yuletide anticipation.

Some years later I found myself working in a mobile phone shop. At this point I'd worked out that I wasn't much of a sales person but - much like my toy retailing days - rather enjoyed playing with the products. Once again, our Christmas season kicked off at the beginning of November. Mobile phones were relatively new, very exciting and became the must-have festive gift for 1995. We very literally couldn't get enough. Soon, promotion beckoned... or perhaps the regional manager was desperate to get a real salesman running one of his biggest shops. Either way, I ended up in head office where Christmas planning started as summer ended. By the time real Christmas arrived, I'd been looking at prototype cardboard decorations and seasonal puns for the past three months.

So I don't think that Christmas is starting much earlier. I reckon there's always been a holiday build-up for quite a few weeks. It's even happening here in Ringmer, with various events taking place during November and chocolate advent calendars arriving in the convenience shop. But I think what's changed is that every aspect of retailing is now Christmas-related. It's not just the must-have gifts that are being decked with boughs of holly. It's everything. Anything you're buying for yourself is "stocking up for Christmas", according to advertisers. Anything you're buying for someone else is a potential Christmas present. Headache tablets, puncture repair kits and insulating tape are for Christmas emergencies. Even a cup of coffee is now served in a merry old bowl with a slug of eggnog-flavoured syrup lurking at the bottom and a dollop of cream floating on top.

But what can we do?  Well, I think Tesco has the answer. It sells hot cross buns all year round without any sight of a biblical reference or an Easter bunny. We should demand the same of yule logs, cranberry & brie vol-au-vents, figgy puddings and tinned shortbread biscuits. These should be available every day, from January to December. That way we can enjoy a proper Christmas at the proper time of year without all this marketing fuss.

First published on vivalewes.com 28th November 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/category/east-of-earwig/