My own Scandinavian drama

It's Saturday morning. I've fed the cats downstairs and have returned to the bedroom with cups of tea for me and Mrs B. "We could get the Nordic look", she says, unexpectedly. She's checking email in bed on her iPhone, which is wrong on any number of levels. "What's the Nordic look?", I ask. "Hang on", she replies, "I'm just about to find out". There's a pause while my wife taps her phone. "It's furniture like IKEA", she tells me, "but from M&S". I'm relieved. "We've already got the look", I say. Our tall, thin bathroom cabinet is actually an IKEA CD rack, although I'd not previously realised this meant we owned a Scandinavian-style bathroom. In case you're wondering, the height of a toilet roll is remarkably similar to the height of a CD case. Not only do they fit perfectly, I'm the only person in the house who can reach the emergency supply on the top shelf. My wife is not convinced. "No, we haven't. It's sofas. That one I liked has been reduced." I'm relieved again. We have a total of three sofas. The house is full, as far as I'm concerned. Still, I'm sensing a trap. "Are we short of sofas?" There's an exasperated sigh as my wife shows me the screen of her phone. "That's nice", I tell her, before using the emergency phrase I keep ready for all design-related concerns. "Very on-trend for the season."

Traditionally this is the time of year in which I rail against the ever-extending commercial Christmas period. (My mother's preferred garden centre started putting its decorations up at the end of September, barely beyond the last few days of summer.) However, this year I have a new target for my protests. It's hygge, which most so-called lifestyle magazines tell me is the Danish word for cosiness, as though we Brits aren't capable of understanding the concept without a bit of cultural appropriation. Surely that's an over-simplification, otherwise my comfy cardigan and fleecy slippers would make me a fashion icon – and that, frankly, is implausible. I needed an authentic Danish perspective on the subject, so I asked Copenhagen-born comedian Sandi Toksvig OBE what she thought about hygge. Well, I didn't so much 'ask' as watch a recent episode of QI on television, in which she offered an explanation. Her lengthy definition was "to get together with your friends usually in candlelight and to feel really mellow and enjoy yourself and in general that involves alcohol". It all sounds very appealing, yet it also sounds familiar. Friends, beer, relaxing, candles, no mention of the internet or TV... oh yes. It's not a traditional Danish custom after all. This is exactly what tends to happen in Ringmer when there's a power cut for more than 30 minutes. If only we had a decent sofa to snuggle on.

First published in Viva Lewes magazine issue 123 December 2016

Dreaming of a Short Christmas

Apparently coffee mega-retailer Starbucks has declared war on Christmas. This season’s takeaway cups are plain red, which some activists say is an attack on Christianity. However, it’s not the lack of festive decoration on the cups that troubles me. It’s their arrival eight weeks before Christmas.

Honestly, I’m not an anti-Christmas grouch. I’m merely an anti-Christmas-in-October-and-November campaigner, with a little bit of there’s-too-much-commercialism-these-days thrown in for extra flavour. Humbug flavour, of course.

For example, I love a bit of Nat King Cole; I just don’t want to hear about his roasting chestnuts when Hallowe’en pumpkins are still on sale. I’d like my Christmas to be focussed on innocent childhood wishes, the annual emergence of tissue-wrapped tree decorations, frosty mornings, sparkling tinsel and twinkling candles, not Coca-Cola’s illuminated truck and ironic retro-styled jumpers. In many ways I'm hoping for an updated Victorian Christmas, packed with plum puddings and candlelit carols but without the cholera and workhouse poverty. But what if this wasn’t a dream. What if it was the law?

Let me take you back to Thursday 12th November, when the village of Ringmer went to the polls. Don't worry, people of Lewes, you didn't miss out. Your polling cards weren't lost in the post. This one was just for us. You see, we voted in a referendum to determine whether we wanted Lewes District Council and the South Downs National Park Authority to use Ringmer's own 'neighbourhood plan' when ruling on planning applications. It was all about decentralisation: I’m told our 'yes' vote means we villagers will have more control over local development. Maybe we’re now only a small step from a second referendum vote that would give us full independence from our neighbours.

And come that day, we could choose to be the UK’s first village with legally-enforceable rules about Christmas. No longer would shops be permitted to sell jellied fruits in September or install their lustrous point-of-sale displays during British Summer Time. Instead, our festive preparation would begin 12 days before Christmas and would end exactly 12 days afterwards. Gifts would be restricted to those mentioned in traditional texts: toy drums, dolls, kiddie cars, gold rings, partridges, that kind of thing. Stockings, not pillowcases, would hang from fireplaces. And sales of cranberry sauce would be strictly rationed.

Or perhaps the citizens of this newly-liberated Ringmer wouldn’t be too bothered about how anyone celebrated the season as long as they were having fun. Actually, despite the occasional grumble, that’s definitely the choice I’d make. Goodwill to all. Fireworks, fairy lights, feasting… whatever you choose. Mine’s a skinny gingerbread latte with cream and extra sprinkles. But not before 13th December, please?

First published in Viva Lewes magazine issue 111 December 2015

Shopping for the purr-fect present in Ringmer

“Mip” says Rupert the cat. “Mip, mip.” He’s speaking in Morse code, as usual. Harry, his companion and occasional sparring partner, joins in. “Marup, merup, morup.” I’ve no idea what Harry’s saying. Either Latin or Martian, I’d guess. He nibbles my ankle to encourage my translation efforts. Ah, yes. Time for cat dinner.

In recent years, the two cats that share our Ringmer home have increasingly been happy for me to prepare their food. Harry still occasionally makes a menu suggestion by carefully placing a fully-functioning mouse under the kitchen table, but he’s generally satisfied with a sachet of whatever’s on special offer. Their current food supply claims to be “independently taste tested by experts”, according to the box. I’ve had some bad jobs in my time but that really would top the list. Equally disturbingly, their biscuits are branded as “food cats would naturally choose”. Would my feline guests pop them in the shopping trolley if they had a chance – or would they rather be baking their own? Either way, I’m not convinced.

The ankle-biting is also a timely reminder that the boys will expect a Christmas present. Or, at least, will need a little distraction when the turkey’s being cooked. Local butcher Lew Howard has an ever-growing list of orders at this time of year but I’m not placing an extra one to please our cats. No, it’s off to The Pet Store, a.k.a. Creature Comforts.

That’s one of the great things about living in a village. Although you may not be able to get everything you need, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll have at least one specialist shop that puts many big-city rivals to shame. We have a wealth of such professionals in Ringmer, from home-based businesses to a warehouse or two. And right in the heart of the village, a pet shop with a dog grooming salon. Not merely a retailer but an entertainer. Watching an afghan hound being dried is more fun than most reality TV shows.

When I call in and ask about Christmas gifts, I’m told it’s dogs rather than cats that tend to receive most presents. Apparently this is because dog owners tend to indulge their pets more. I have my own theory. I reckon it’s about the animal’s sense of humour. Dogs like slapstick comedy, while cats prefer irony. You see, there are plenty of amusing dog gifts – clip-on antlers, knitted jumpers, chewy boxes, tinned Christmas dinner – but not so much for cats. I even wonder about buying them an automatic cat feeder before I realise I’d be rendering myself useless.

And then I spot an advent calendar with a catnip treat hidden behind each door. Next to it, a treat-filled fishnet stocking for December 25th. I buy both. Traditional and ironic. Let’s hope the joke is appreciated.

First published in Viva Lewes magazine issue 99 December 2014.

Keeping it real in Ringmer

It's important not to lose touch with reality. At least, that's what Rupert the cat told me last week. We were chatting on our way back from the vet, where he’d been treated for fight-related injuries. Mind you, I understand that some people may not define 'important' and 'reality' in the same way as I do. Back when I worked for a big telecommunications company, I was convinced that any presentation I produced could be given a title from a country music song. When I needed an off-beat starting point, I'd look to Nashville for inspiration. "Flushed from the bathroom of your heart" was a particular triumph. Shortly after I implemented this major lyrical innovation, my job disappeared. I reckon someone stole my idea and then covered up the evidence. Crazy? That's exactly what Patsy Cline said.

Anyway, these days I'm keeping both feet firmly on the ground... and living in Ringmer is one of the ways I do this. It's certainly a dramatic contrast from my previous home. Before I moved here I lived in a West Sussex town with many tourists and almost enough gift shops to house them all on a rainy Saturday. A little like Lewes, some might say. I couldn't possibly comment.

We even had a 'lifestyle' shop that sold an impractical and unlikely combination of kitchen equipment, cosmetics, stationery, imported photo frames and expensive toys. Plus, of course, coffee and scented candles. Secretly I loved it.

In fact, I could have enjoyed afternoon tea in a different place every day for a month without having the same type of cake twice. That's how many coffee bars and tea shops there were. Budgetary constraints kept my blood-sugar levels stable, although I was tempted on several occasions.

Fortunately, the reality of Ringmer has saved me from myself... and from any similar temptation. There's only one bakery. You see, no-one would raise an eyebrow if I walked into a pub and the barman said "your usual, Mark?" before pouring a pint of Harveys. It's much less socially acceptable to be presented with a Belgian bun in a paper bag whenever you meet a baker. The embarrassment of being recognised as a frequent customer keeps my patisserie habit under control. You need to know when to walk away. Well, that's what Rupert says anyway. Or was it Kenny Rogers?

First published on Viva Lewes 3rd July 2014: http://www.vivalewes.com

Who’s the talk of the town?

I'm increasingly famous... and it's no fun. While Chris Martin asks for privacy as he 'consciously uncouples', while George Michael does his best to dodge the paparazzi, I've discovered my own challenges. But this fame hasn't come from my music. No, it's come from deep within the virtual world of the internet. Let me explain.

There are two so-called social internet services I'm fairly keen on. One is Twitter, where I'll occasionally share a 140-character slice of my action-packed life with whosoever is reading. (Recent example: "I've been photographing eco-friendly cat litter scoops".) The other is Foursquare, which lets users 'check in' on their mobile phones and tell others where they are. From cafés to chemists, you can report where you are and add a photo or a few comments. "Why would you do that?", I hear someone ask. Hang on a moment, mother, I'm about to tell you.

There are, as far as I'm concerned, three reasons for using Foursquare. There's a good old-fashioned sense of self-importance. I'm still working on that one. There's the idea that you may be helping other people make decisions. Joining the cub scouts strengthened that feeling many years ago. And then there's the competitive element. You see, Foursquare has 'gamified' the process of checking in. If you check-in to a particular venue more than everyone else, you'll automatically be appointed 'mayor'. There's no chain of office, no extra responsibility and no recognition in the place itself, just the motivation of climbing to the top of the list. While anyone can add their house to Foursquare and become a legend in their own larder, it's easy to catch the bug and begin checking in wherever you go.

Which brings me to my fame. The Foursquare bug bit me a few years ago. Thanks to frequent visits and regular online check-ins, I'm currently the mayor of the corner shop in the village. At the moment my mobile phone tells me I'm also mayor of Lewes Tesco, mayor of Waitrose and mayor of an assortment of coffee shops across Sussex. In fact, I'm mayor of so many places that the novelty is wearing off. The game isn't fun any more. What can I do?

Well, I reckon I need to borrow a solution from real-world renown. It's time to take a break from checking in as much. Let my unelected rule lapse. Hide my phone and become an internet recluse for a while. And then, if I'm still interested, I can try to win back my crown. Yes, I’m going to stage a come-back tour.

First published on Viva Lewes 28th March 2014: www.vivalewes.com

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/

Accept your fête

The very first episode of Channel 4 television series 'Father Ted' contains one of the sitcom's most memorable scenes. Father Dougal insists on visiting 'Funland' on Craggy Island, where the world's least exciting funfair is taking place. One of the stalls is simply a cat rotating on the turntable of a record player. To avoid any doubt, a hand-painted sign says 'Spinning cat'.

That mechanised moggie is an image I often think of whenever village entertainment is mentioned – but local events shouldn’t all be written off as uninteresting. Our neighbouring village of Glynde recently hosted a couple of festivals that saw world-renowned musicians performing. There's the Ringmer Steam & Country Show in a few weeks and coming up even sooner is the Ringmer Shopkeepers' Fun Day.

This appears to have two straightforward aims. One is to raise funds for charity. The other is to encourage local people to visit the shopping precinct. Now, there's no denying our precinct is suffering from an economic downturn at the moment. I counted four empty shops this week, which is a sizeable percentage of the total. No trendy ‘pop up’ art galleries or discount luggage retailers have arrived to temporarily fill the spaces. Yet those remaining shops have managed to arrange live music, dancing, a dog agility display, a dog show, the attendance of East Sussex Fire & Rescue, special offers and free food. Pretty impressive, given the circumstances. Most intriguingly, there'll be free dog portraits as well.

For four hours on Saturday 13th July, we're promised fun for the entire family. It's easy to mock. It's easy to ask when the 'duck startling' begins and where the terrifying 'tunnel of goats' is. (Both are on fictional Craggy Island, since you ask). But I think there'll be charm and a real sense of community. You could almost say the Ringmer fun day will be more honest than larger events.

In fact, I'm already planning my visit. First, I need to disguise the cat by giving him a bone and walking him up to the precinct on a lead. Well, there’s a free portrait on offer. Unless… hmmm… I wonder if he’d sit on our old record player?

First published on vivalewes.com 11th July 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/accept-your-fete/

Words don’t come easy

For the past few weeks I've seen a road sign as I entered Lewes along the Phoenix Causeway. "Speed restriction work", it warned. "Delays for two weeks". It was referring to the new 20mph speed limit that's designed to reduce accidents and injuries in the town centre. My complaint isn't about the new lower limit - I'm sure most right-minded people would encourage drivers to collide with pedestrians at slower speeds - but about the wording of the sign. Any delays caused by the painting of new road markings have now been replaced by a permanently reduced limit. I shouted at the sign every time I went past. "It's not just for a fortnight. It's forever. Delays forever".

Language changes all the time, I know. That's perfectly natural. This isn't about split infinitives and greengrocers' apostrophes or about the difference between less and fewer. I only get seriously annoyed when things are unclear, misleading or plain stupid. For example, shopping at Waitrose presents a new etymological challenge. After loading my groceries into my fashionably reusable shopping bag I pay by credit card. When I've finished, the delightful young cashier ruins the experience by saying "If you could remove your card from the machine". That's a conditional sentence without any consequence. In my head I'm screaming "If... then. If... then. Then what?"

But an illogical frustration that tops both of these annoyances is much closer to home. In fact, it's outside the convenience shop here in Ringmer. We have a cash machine that vends £5 notes. This is a smart idea but unfortunately the machine isn't smart in any other sense. I insert my card and enter my PIN code. I'm offered a choice between "Withdraw cash and check balance" or "Cash only". Just cash, I decide. "Do you want to check your balance?" asks the machine. I curse silently as I press the "No" key. No, if I'd wanted to check my balance I would have chosen that option. "Would you like a receipt?" asks the machine. I would. "Sorry", says the machine, "Receipts are not available". I’ve stopped thinking of it as a cash machine. It’s more like a mechanical village idiot.

First published on vivalewes.com 3rd May 2013: http://www.vivalewes.com/words-dont-come-easy/

Garden centred

I head over the border into West Sussex to see mum, who treats me to lunch at a garden centre. I’m served a perfectly acceptable snack that comprises an Italian-style sandwich with Italian-style ingredients on Italian-style bread, finished off with an Italian-style coffee. To continue the continental theme there's even an advertisement for 'Italian grown plants' on the table. Apparently these plants spend their childhood in Tuscany, which means they're well suited to the south of England. I gaze through the double-glazed window at the nose-to-tail traffic outside. It starts to rain. The concept of homesick shrubs begins to trouble me, so I distract myself by looking inside the garden centre instead.

When I was younger, places were always what they claimed to be. Garden centres sold grass. Supermarkets sold food. Airports were where you caught a plane. Not any more. Everywhere is a 'destination'. Take this freshly-expanded garden centre, for example. There's a pizza oven in the restaurant. There's a conference room to hire; ideal for the kind of business meeting that needs to be held in a plant-themed retail environment. There's free Wi-Fi. Gifts. Kitchenware. Stationery. Shortbread biscuits in enamel tins. A chaise longue, for heaven’s sake.

Meanwhile, supermarkets now sell televisions, airports play host to celebrity restaurants and almost every petrol station has a coffee machine. Mind you, occasionally the coffee tastes as though it’s kept in the same storage tanks as the fuel.

Arriving back home, I find our resident teenager suffering from ennui. "Ringmer is boring", he tells me, before adding "there's nothing to do". Rather than draw attention to the unnecessary duplication in his weary claim, I'm prepared to admit he has a point. It's not that Ringmer really is boring. Definitely not. But our little village can sometimes appear a bit on the quiet side.

I reckon I have the perfect solution. All we need to do is put a roof on the entire place and call it a multimedia experience. Our church is smarter than the average airport chapel, our garden centre actually grows plants and our pubs are livelier than any tacky themed bar. Come to Ringmer retail park: where everything makes sense.

First published on vivalewes.com 21st March 2013: http://vivalewes.com/

I bring you bad tidings

Since Victorian times there's been an unwritten Christmas tradition in Britain. Anyone who says anything negative about the season will be called ‘a Scrooge’. Regardless of any concerns about the estate of Charles Dickens taking legal action over copyright, you're only allowed to be upbeat. EastEnders is bad, Morecambe & Wise are good. Disagree and Santa's little helpers will throw mistletoe at you. This was brought home to me last weekend when I went Christmas shopping in Lewes with my lovely wife. Whilst she stocked up on glittery cards, I distracted myself with my mobile phone. After a while I noticed she'd put her potential purchases down, mainly because she couldn't hold them at the same time as folding her arms in a threatening manner. "Stop tweeting", she told me. "I don't want to read your sarcastic comments when I get home". She was right, of course. This year, more than ever, there seems to be an inclination to treat Christmas with excess humour. To follow the 2012 trend I should have been offering my wit to everyone as we walked through the shops, not muttering to a tiny audience on the internet. There's postmodern irony wherever you look. The gingerbread latte has become a long-established festive drink. Sparkly shirts are now essential fashion for your office party. All mum's hard work will be ignored... but that's just the way things are, ho ho. Better stuff the turkey with indigestion tablets, eh? When you've finished laughing, you can move on to enjoying a wry smile. Listen to yuletide songs that talk about escaping the crowds to find a few minutes of peace, of battling through the supermarket aisles but discovering the true meaning of Christmas regardless. Watch seasonal TV programmes where everything falls apart before everything comes together. It's all wrong. Wrong, I tell you. We need to get back to a traditional Christmas.

So let's start with the Winter Solstice, a festival so significant that the ancient Brits toiled for many years to build Stonehenge as a place to celebrate it. Winter was a scary time in those days; reaching the solstice meant you stood a half-decent chance of surviving for another year without finding your family marked as tumuli on an Ordnance Survey map. Then there's 25th December itself, which commemorates Jesus being put in a feeding trough by his affianced mother because there was no room for him anywhere else. Christmas, therefore, is traditionally about being terrified. About working long hours to create something that's ultimately pointless. About awkward moments with the relatives. About important plans that didn't turn out as expected.

But that’s not to say we should be miserable now. In fact, I have the perfect role model. A man who laughed because he was genuinely happy, not because he was mocking the festive season. A man who realised Christmas was an excellent opportunity to help others. A generous man, a friendly man... and a man who enjoyed a joke, too. It’s Ebenezer Scrooge.

First published on vivalewes.com 13th December 2012: http://vivalewes.com/