White Christmas

And so the snow arrived. It wasn't a huge surprise, given that we'd had a weeks notice that it was on its way and we'd all seen the many and varied news reports announcing that armageddon must have begun because London got a few centimetres of the white stuff. Apparently had 13 more millimetres of snow fallen then Boris Johnson would have had to initiate emergency protocols and begin the process of sacrificing 500 virgins (to be imported if 500 genuine British ones couldn't be found) in order to appease the great snow god in the sky and get industry moving again. Despite the fact that in Finland the temperature reaches minus 20 centigrade and yet everything keeps moving, Eurostar it seems was incapable of getting through an insulated tunnel without incident, leaving dozens of people trapped under umpteen million tonnes of seawater in a long thin tincan wishing they'd risked seasickness and taken the ferry instead. Bury Council, in a moment of questionable sensibility, decided that despite the fact that heavy snow was headed our way, gritting the road was for nancy boys and they wouldn't bother. Meaning that when it hit yesterday even the main roads were impassable. After a nice firm frost last night, the compacted snow became compacted ice puddles and you'd have done better with skis on the bottom of your car than wheels. Fortunately there weren't many people in the work carpark when my car arrived, sideways, and lurched its way diagonally into what I guessed was a parking space (difficult to tell because the painted lines are all under frozen snow). Getting home through all the traffic from the multitude of people who are all off to get their last minute shopping in the Trafford Centre and a) can't bloody drive because they only ever take the car out once a week to do the 'big shop' for groceries and have no idea what lane they're meant to be in or what the indicators on the car are for and b) are all driving at 4mph because the man on the radio told them driving conditions are treacherous is going to be fun of the kind last encountered when I had a tooth removed.

Entertainingly, the race for the Christmas number one single has not been won by the winner of the X factor, as anticipated by Simon Cowell and presumably the winner of the X factor. In days gone by, i.e. before the X factor, who was going to be christmas number one would be something you talked about during breaktime at school. Or in the pub, depending on how old you were but now it's just guaranteed to be whichever beige clone with good teeth, modern hair and a pliable nature won the X factor. Dull dull dull. Until this year, when the public rebelled, presumably appalled by the idea that the long cherished christmas number one spot could be occupied by a shit remake of an originally shit Miley Cyrus song. Plastic pop at it's most tedious, I'm sure you'll agree. No, this year it's been taken by Rage Against the Machine's 'Killing in the name of', a song which serves the dual festive purpose of not only narking off Simon Cowell  by slowly raising a middle finger to the X factor but also irritating the hell out of the Christmas PC brigade by being rather aggressive sounding and, shock of all shocks, containing the word 'fuck'. Imagine, someone using the word 'fuck' in a song, it's truly the end of days, or at least it was to the woman I heard interviewed on the radio this morning. Serves Cowell right, this is man who inflicted on us the eternally screeching Leona Lewis, a woman who with one chorus can send bats into the side of buildings and cause dogs to go temporarily insane as her high pitched caterwaul sends their hearing threshold into freefall. Added to this insult is the fact he actually had the idea of putting the two giant egos of Piers Morgan and Amanda Holden onto the one TV show, a plan of such unparalled evil that he should have been tried for treason and swiftly beheaded. So Cowell, let this be a lesson to you, we're bored of beige so next time you're picking an X factor winner, how about going for someone a little bit neon pink or sparkly black instead? 

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7 Responses

  1. I look forward to standing around the Christmas Tree at the in-laws this year and singing that old Festive Favourite, Killing In The Name Of. But don't get me started on people who can't drive and therefore can't drive in poor conditions! Aargh!

  2. even though ''killing in the name of'' is a very harsh sounding song,its full of hope and freedom. have a merry little christmas.and a very large new years.

  3. Always interesting as a tropics-dweller to get another perspective on Christmas weather. I can imagine what sort of havok snowfalls can cause to public transport systems. The train-in-the-tunnel incident must have been scary for those involved.Poor old Simon. He was out here for a while, but I'm glad you have him back there again.

  4. Geoffrey looks very happy, certainly at home with the snow. Aston was allowed out in it on Saturday to see what it was. He's not mad keen on the fact one minute he has some, next it's gone.
    As a young man I was very into RATM, and the fact Killing in the name of. is No.1 has made me more happy than you can imagine. Not just because both Simon and his devil-seed have been denied Christmas top spot – serves the smug tosspots right – but that the culture of drivel-pop has been severely kicked in the crotch. Rather like a paintball fired from an F1 engine at 5k RPM. Clarkson = My hero.

  5. We've had even more snow now and it's had the marvellous effect of encouraging the once-a-week drivers to just get off the road. Plus the added excitement of whether you'll lose the back of the car on the corner. Going to Morrisons has never been so exciting.

  6. Ah, according to the news we don't have him here at the moment, he's flown off to the Bahamas to sulk about the fact he didn't win, and has promised to pull out all the stops to ensure that this travesty doesn't happen next year and the next beige winner of the X factor gets their rightful place at the top of the charts. He's certainly not the most gracious loser I've ever seen.

  7. Clarkson does some hilarious things. Like when they hooked up a V8 engine to a blender and made a smoothie out of things like steak with bones in it and housebricks. Then made Hammond and May drink it. Fantastic. I missed the paintball one though, that sounds great.Poor Aston, when you're that small it must be really confusing if your new cold toy vanishes for no good reason. Have you taken him sledging yet or is he still a bit little for that? He probably is isn't he? My friend Mel had to give her husband a rollocking for his plan to take their 13 month old out sledging. Geoffrey gets very overexcited in snow, he jumps up and down it shouting. He is utterly baffled by snowballs because he jumps to catch them, his favourite pastime, and then they explode all over his head. He then has to spend quality time looking for it, which never stops being funny. A dog – more expensive than a X box but definately more entertaining.

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