When the Christmas Tree Comes Down

I find this time of year very melancholy. Years ago I wrote a two-verse poem trying to capture this melancholy, but I can only find one verse now:

The time is past for tinsel
The holly’s out of date
The clockwork Santa’s lost the will
To celebrate.
The workday world is rousing;
It hates a paper crown.
What’s left of the carousing
When the Christmas tree comes down?

I do remember that the second verse had one line that went something like: "The Three Kings have left town". 

I felt this especially at Epiphany Mass on Tuesday. Hearing the last Christmas carols of the season made me feel more than melancholy-- almost grief-stricken. I've never been able to get used to transience, and it bothers me more as I grow older. My least favourite word is "goodbye" (although I'll admit it's tremendously evocative in titles; Goodbye To All That, Goodbye Lenin, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, etc.)

Admittedly some of the melancholy had other causes. Recently I've lost some friendships that I had hoped would be lifelong. Not through estrangement, or death, but circumstances. A longstanding group of which I was a happy member has broken up-- my Inklings, you might say. Still friends, but I don't expect I will see most of them often again-- if ever. A breaking of a fellowship.

(My hatred of transcience is one reason that I'll never stop writing this blog, until death or something else intervenes! I don't "do" endings-- if I can possibly help it.)

Should We Capitalize the Seasons and the Points of the Compass?

 It's a question.

The Embarrasing Right-Wing Old Dude Archetype in Comedy

Have you ever noticed how prominent this is, especially in British comedy?

Alf Garnett. Alan Partridge. David Brent. Chris Finch (in the same show). Rigsby in Rising Damp. Bail Fawlty ("if they don't like making cars, why don't they get themselves another bloody job designing cathedrals or composing violin concertos?"). Mr. Mackay in Porridge.

From about the 1970s onwards, nearly every comedy "villain" in British situation comedy is conservative or right-wing. I'm sure I could go on, but I don't have time.

The End of Christmas

That's Just Completely Gratuitous, That Is

I was re-reading my diary from 2016 when I came across this section:

I've just been watching scenes from Some Kind of Monster [a documentary about the band Metallica], and the scene where Kirk Hammett plays a special song he wrote in driving school. It reminds me of other moments where something completely unnecessary happened, and filled me with gladness.

Like the way the teachers in my school did a Line Dance on one day before the holidays once.

Or the time my father bought me and my brother all those cakes and biscuits before the first day of the 1994 World Cup, that he knew we were looking forward to so much.

Or the time my aunt put out a barrell that said "Fáilte" when me, my brother, and my motherwere arriving at the farm.

Or the time J----- B----- and J--- H----- both told me to 'wrap up warm' before I was going to America.

Or the time my wife arranged for me to get a helium balloon on my birthday.

Or the time, on one of the British channels, there was a wolf's howl after the close-down on a night they had been showing horror films.

The latter happened probably forty years ago-- back when TV stations still closed down for the night. I still think about it regularly.

A Sponderful Woonerism

"Jesus wasn't faney or foke."

Heard at Mass in Dublin last Sunday morning.

Happy Feast of the Epiphany!

 

I happened upon this picture yesterday. It's actually me going to the library Christmas party last year. (The wife of the university's deputy President came up to me and said I won the competition for most Christmassy, or something like that.) Looking at it now, I think I resemble some kind of festive Che Guevara.

Anyway, Happy Epiphany, Three Kings, etc. The library took down all its Christmas decorations yesterday-- rather ironic, considering all the talk of cultural sensitivity, given that today is such a big day in so many other cultures.

In Ireland, of course, it's Nollaig na mBan (Women's Christmas or Little Christmas), when men would do the housework and make meals etc. The Irish media loves Nollaig na mBan, even though it doesn't make a whole lot of sense in today's context. I've noticed that our feminist society still wants all the trappings of chivalry! But I'm in favour of almost all traditions, so I don't mind.