As Boxing Day draws to a close and the eve of my birthday beckons I have nothing major to report: a quiet Christmas spent, for the most part, at Medd Towers - nipping out for lunch at The Balti House - and then back home to see off the remaining episodes of Broadchurch with David Tennant and Olivia Coleman.
Followed by a new book (there's still no feeling quite like starting a new novel). You can keep yer reindeer and yer wee donkey and all and sundry oxen, cattle and other Xmas related beasts. The only animals I'm interested in this Christmas are slow horses. Mick Herron's latest Slough House offering - Clown Town - was lurking in my stocking (and a signed copy too) so that's the next few days sorted. I truly hope your Christmas was as chilled as mine.
...older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own,
twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the
factories.
Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he
would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside.
The children slept, frozen into time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
I hope you all had a good Christmas; ours was quiet, but that's how I like it these days. As I type this, Boxing Day's embers are all but ashes in the grate and December 27th (the most unremarkable day betwixt Christmas and New Year) is practically upon us. My festive playlist is, therefore, about to expire and go into hibernation for another year; so goodbye Medieval Baebes, Burl Ives, Dean Martin, Bugge Wesseltoft, Nick Lowe et al and with them all their time sensitive musical offerings. See you next December.
However, one album that inexplicably only comes out at Christmas isn't even a Christmas album at all: Mark Knopfler's Sailing to Philadelphia generally makes its way to Medd Towers around the second week of December and two weeks later, never outstaying its welcome, Knopfler is offering to shake my hand and bid us farewell - with the (guaranteed) promise of 'Doing it all again next year.' A hail fellow well met if ever there was one.
As I say, in its 13 song track list there's neither a sleigh bell or a hoof on the roof in sight. Yet its place at the high table of festive musical accompaniment is assured every year. No questions asked. And since James left home some 15 years ago he too affords it the exact same level of Christmas importance as tinsel and a tree; one of us generally texts the other around the 12th/13th of the month with the call sign 'It's time' and an image of the album cover.
Every track is a gem. From the barnstorming opening chords of 'What it Is', to the closing bars of its finale 'One More Matinee' the quality never lets up for a second. This one does it for me every time: when Glenn Tilbrook's vocal part comes in at 4:09, I tell you, I'm gone.
Christmas Day was always going to be a quiet affair this year; dad was away at my brother's and James & Janni were at home in Manchester road-testing their swanky new kitchen.
But Sam said he was opening up for a few of his regulars, so what better way to celebrate the birth of Christ than with a meat vindaloo washed down with a pint of Cobra. SFSG.
After a splendid meal it was just a short cab ride home where I opened the Quality Street and, this is when I knew all was not right, I didn't reach for a beer but instead played safe and put the kettle on. I then proceeded to fall asleep during Let it Be and, when raised from my slumber, could barely play more than a couple of hands of Rummikub before disappearing to the bathroom. Several times. Not 'the rona' - I tested negative with a lateral flow - just a stomach bug that went thru me like the proverbial dose of salts.
Deciding that bed was probably the safest place, I was tucked up a little after 9pm (too exhausted even to read the next chapter of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being) feeling more than a little sorry for myself but remembering to text my friend David and taking a rain check on Boxing Day's planned walk.
But that was then and this is now; after a good night's kip (and no more visits to the bathroom) I think I'm cured! I've woken up with an insatiable thirst (I'm already on my third brew of the day) and can't wait to tackle a few pigs in blankets later.
Anyway, I hope you all had a slightly better day than me yesterday and if you want to know what I'm currently listening to than this is Liverpool legend Ian Prowse. It's not really a Christmas record, but it kind of is - evoking as it does all the sentiments associated with this time of year. Right, I just need to call David and tell him our walk is still on...
It's that time of year when I would normally be thinking of knocking out a few Best of 2019 CD compilations and bunging 'em in Christmas cards. But as this Crimbo will be even more low key than normal and, anyway, I wouldn't know how to condense the year into 20 or so songs, and the fact that this year's card list would probably fit on the back of a second class stamp, I've gone all modern - crikey, it's a Spotify playlist! Next Christmas I'll just lock the coordinates in and teleport myself straight into your living room brandishing a card. On second thoughts...
Click on the link below and enjoy 100+ songs in the comfort of your own ears.
I made a Spotify playlist of all the music featured this year in my blog - ‘Are We There Yet?’ You’ll find 808 State, Macca, Lemon Jelly, Yola, the Rutles, Lulu, White Stripes, Bowie, Eleanor McEvoy & a shed load of other goodies, tho’ not the Goodies. https://t.co/BEhK38Red2
Between 2001 and 2006 Sufjan Stevens recorded five private Christmas themed EPs which he would give to family and friends each year. All in all he put out some forty odd festive songs and carols; initially they found their way onto fan websites before later becoming an officially released bumper CD Box Set. Although I may not have a holy bone in my body, and find all religions nothing more than mumbo jumbo, I do get the spiritual aspect of Christmas. Believe me, I do.
Merry Christmas from Nottingham. Yes, this is the card I've been mostly sending this year. Wherever you may be at this time of year and whoever you are spending it with, have a good one. You can read about my ghosts of Christmas past here, should you so wish, together with the festive tunes that tend to get played at Medd Towers. A big thank you, once again, to everyone who took the time to knock on my front door this year and shared a pot of tea with me - I enjoyed your company; appointments not necessary and the kettle's always on!
Ian Dury - Sweet Gene Vincent
Released as a single 25 November 1977; failed to chart
Christmas is once again fast approaching and, this year, you know what, I think it's gonna pass me by. I'm not 'doing' it this year; enough already. And it's not been the best of years*, let's not roll it in glitter. So, a fake tree, a pint on Christmas morning and a turkey curry at some point in the afternoon - job done. I have, however, asked Santa for one small gift: In Sunlight Or In Shadow is a selection of short stories inspired by the paintings of Edward Hopper. Lee Child, one of my favourite authors**, has contributed The Truth About What Happened based on Hopper's Hotel Lobby. Written from the perspective of the 'invisible' fourth person in the painting (the hotel clerk at the back on the far right that nobody sees), it's the one thing I'm genuinely looking forward to this December 25th.
With a bit of luck and a following wind, Christmas festivities will resume in 2017.
* Though 2016 has not been without its high points.
** I devour his Jack Reacher novels mercilessly.
in the games room: hours of endless fun c/o the freaky deaky Dutch
Last night's Boxing Day celebrations at Medd Towers will live long in the memory. A veritable feast was laid on for this invite only event, straddling, as it does, Christmas Day and my birthday; all washed down with (among other concoctions) several Black & Tans and a rather nice Port (poured direct from the freezer, for reasons nobody can quite remember). The entertainment included a few rounds of Sjoelbakken - a spectacular game from The Netherlands that has been played in Medds' residences up and down the UK for at least three generations.
The lovely Adele came bearing gifts: I was presented with a beautiful note book - it's got lines and perforations and everything. And in the bottom right hand corner of each page sits an outline drawing of an acoustic guitar. Now I have absolutely no excuse for not using the opportunity of a few days' down time to write a new song. Have I?
Weren't they? Maybe it's just me. Anyway, whether they were or whether they weren't, I'd just like to wish anyone who's stuck their head around the door in the last twelve months a very Happy Christmas. Have a joyous one and have a safe one. And have one for me.
The images above show that there was a time when I could slide quite comfortably into a football strip (and a tank top come to that) and not get asked if I'd eaten all the pies. And the final picture (below), although not taken at Christmas, is a photograph that only came into my possession yesterday. It's of mum and her father in the back garden of the family home in Strokestown, Co. Roscommon. I'm guessing it was taken c.1937.
Quality Street. Not just a tin of chocolates that comes into the house but once a year, but also the title of Nick Lowe's festive album from 2013.
It's been playing in the car all week and may well be the soundtrack to this afternoon's decorating of the tree. I'll have to run it by the committee first, of course. The tree is traditionally decked with Dean Martin 'Live at the Sands' playing in the background, but as we're a week early (James is here this weekend, not next), it may be time to ring in the changes. I am, however, expecting stiff opposition.
December comes and December goes. With only a couple of weeks left till Christmas, I’m still trying to get my head around how fast the last twelve months has gone. And all that’s happened in those 365 days. My ex-business partner, Steve*, and I used to say: it’s only people that let you down. Never has that maxim been more true than in 2015. Maybe I let my guard down more than I would normally, but, one thing’s for sure – if you want to be my friend next year I may well be asking for references.
Then again, you'll probably be shortlisted if you tell me that you normally despise Christmas records, but are quite partial to this little ditty.
Low: Just Like Christmas
* It's Steve's daughter's birthday today. Happy Birthday Faye x
The Number One Son is spending some time with me and his mother this Christmas.
He's opened a few goodies and already it's looking like a good haul; these three lovely mini canvases were unwrapped early doors. Sun Ra fans will recognise the top one. And regular readers will know that James plays in a rather good Sun Ra Arkestra.
The tree went up today: it had to, it's the last Saturday before Christmas - Medd folklore is binding.
Die Hard: Christmas movie?
I tell people I don't like Christmas and that I don't like snow. I also tell people I don't like mince pies. Well, two out of those three statements are true; but when the tree goes up and the lights are switched on, I start to get a bit misty eyed and can't help thinking back to Christmases past. Despite the Black Friday & Cyber Monday nonsense and Nigella's kitchen fakery, I shall look forward more than ever to this festive season and the homecoming of The Number One Son on Christmas Eve: gifts will be exchanged, glasses will be raised, turkey will be devoured and the perennial Die Hard will be watched and dissected - is it really a Christmas film? And, thanks to our Anglo-German friends, Andy and Monika, back in Nottingham, the music of Bugie Wesseltoft will be omnipresent over the next few days.
Our Christmas revelry has been kept in check this year - not very Bacchanalian; though glasses were charged and raised at the appropriate times. Contrast that to the music we've been listening to this holiday: lots of Medieval Babes and Red Priest - classical baroque fits like a hand in glove at this time of year. Saint-Saëns provided the soundtrack to the bird cooking in its own juices and the subsequent (mini) banquet that followed. Here's the Baccahanale with Gustavo Dudamel conducting The Berlin Philharmonic. Hold on to your seats.
Shiny 45s hanging from the tree and Nick Lowe entombed in a snow globe; Noddy was right - it's only just begun.
Speaking of Nick Lowe, he was persuaded by his American record company earlier this year to make a 'Holiday' album. In the wrong hands this project would surely have become another of Herod's victims. Instead, it sounds like this:
Christmas will be a quiet affair this year; just the two of us. We will, though, in keeping with family tradition, still be be putting the tree up this afternoon - big switch on 16:00 GMT (11:00 Eastern). And, as ever, it will be decorated to a Dean Martin soundtrack; not one of his Christmas albums but, invariably, Live at The Sands* or The Essential Collection. Don't ask me how, why or when this all started but we simply cannot deck the halls with boughs of holly to anything other than a Dino backdrop.
But here's the thing. And a very apposite thing at that. Dean Martin died on Christmas Day. Who knew?
Tom's getting on. We think he's 19; he may even be 20. Despite being recently diagnosed as having Diabetes he still has days when he thinks he's about four and runs 'round like a lunatic. But mostly, he'll go to sleep for the day and only wake up to be fed and watered. Whenever I write a new song I play it to Tom first; I always ask him to tell me if he's heard the tune before. However, when my guitar come out, he just covers his ears with his paws and plays dead.
But as soon as he sees the tree go up on Saturday he'll be straight back into kitten mode - 'helping' us with the lights and tearing up our paper chains; like he's always done. And that's just fine, because we know Tom probably won't be with us for many more Christmases; we just won't tell him.
If you never received a Christmas card from us this year, please don't get bent out of shape. We've only just got straight after moving house and writing cards wasn't exactly our number one priority.
But if you did, I'd like to think that we would have at least put your name(s) in the card and, maybe, even a little note personal to you.
Anyway, normal service will, I hope (if the fates allow) be resumed come Christmas 2013. And, anyway, I might surprise you by sending you a postcard before then. I may even ring you.
Doing anything for Christmas? I'm time shifting. Trawling through the Radio Times double ish is never easy at the best of times, but, once I've established what's on BBC Radio 4, 4X, 3, 6, 2, Ulster (Gerry Anderson) and Wales (Rhod Gilbert), I'll be able to sort out my holiday podcast listening. I shan't be bothering with the telly - too many box sets to wade through.
