Christmas plastic madness

This blog has had its fair share of yuletide rants, not about the event itself but the tide of consumerism that submerges any notion of what this festival is actually about.

Our two great recycling emporiums have been trawled for our re-gifted gifts along with various why-would-anyone-want-to-say-goodbye-to-this shetland jumpers/cashmere scarves etc from Vinted. Lovely foodstuffs such as local honey, handmade chocolates and olive oil from someone who has an olive grove in Portugal and brings up regular supplies will make up the other presents, and although I might buy a few oddities in NOZ (a whole other blog post) I'll avoid the bigger shops.

I had to go into Action (terrifying shop full of 95% non essential goods) to look for a loo brush ( I do draw the line on second hand very occasionally) and was transfixed by the festival of festive tat on offer, the most ridiculous of all: special celebration of the the birth of Jesus dog bed, and - this stuff signals the near ending of the human race if ever there was a sign - a hefty plastic pot containing yuletide white candy floss containing flecks of gold. I've seen many of these pots and each time it's a palm to head slapping duh astonishment moment - a one-use plastic pot containing spun sugar . . . what crazies thought of this, and why, money of course, and especially at this cash-it-in time of the year. Well, time to go and wrap some stuff up in old maps of France I found at Emmaus earlier.

Joyeuse Noël.

Sheffield wanderings

London is my usual go-to wandering place but as I was visiting my lovely brother and his lovely family I spent a few days exploring somewhere composed of large hills and stone buildings.

They live on one of the seven hills of Sheffield, an hour and half walk into the city itself. The tram was an easy option but being now a dweller in flatter countryside I wanted to experience the calf-aching inclines. 

The views were inspiring: rows of brick and slate roofed dwellings, autumnal trees, and distant moorland hilltops. I sketched, ate scones and drank tea in various cafés, and enjoyed chats with folks about their gardens and or dogs.

The city centre itself I found less fascinating as many of the shops have been sucked in to the black hole - or rather glittering, white, Christmas bauble-infested nightmare that is Meadowhall. But I did buy some walking boots in an outdoor pursuits (what a lovely phrase) shop which were 80% off thanks to another consumer madness trap - Black Friday, even though it was Wednesday.

Some snaps of my meanderings.

                                                        V steep footpath towards town

don't miss the other sign - Battersea Cod's home...

The merging of shopping festivals

My yearly festive twaddle rant.

In this fracturing world where nearly everyone must surely be aware that things are not heading in a good direction - especially environmentally - one might think that the amount of consumerism could be on the wain . . . manufacturers taking a bit of responsibility, or more likely, jumping on the 'ecologic' band-wagon/bus/trolly, bike, whatever. But, no. Certainly no evidence of this in our local cathedral of shopping.
I went in to get A4 paper, a bag of prunes and a bit of cheese but must have spent five minutes just gawping at this years Christmas displays of chocolate. It was definitely worse than last year. Ferrro Rocher marked their territory with a sort of pathetic golden cardboard arch under which you have to pass to get into the main actual food area of the shop. Other brands - mostly Lindt, it seemed, had been arranged in a huge block - a red and gold battleship ploughing its way between pasta and frozen foods.
People were loading their trolleys with a polite frenzy. Why? It wasn't even December. Then I noticed the Black Friday/weekend signs. All festive chocolate 30% off in celebration of this . . . event. We might as well just have Black Century and be done with it. The weekend has already spread to Black Week.

                              

I did look up the origins of all this madness.

According to a site called History Stories, the first recorded use of the term 'Black Friday' was applied after a major financial crash on September 24, 1869: specifically, the crash of the U.S gold market Two Wall St financiers worked together to buy up as much of the nation's gold, thus hoping to drive the price sky high and make astronomical profits. The outcome was discovery of the conspiracy, stock market free fall and massive country-wide bankruptcy.

Apparently ten people have died in crushes over cut-price goods. The first in a Wallmart. A shop worker was trampled to death while opening the doors to a flood of eager people, another during a shooting incidents over goods in Toys R US . . .

I don't actually recall Black Friday being a thing until a few years back. Mad folk waiting in sleeping bags outside Harrods in January for various sale unmissables, yes, but crazed shopping on a Friday in November?

Anyway, I did get my prunes, paper - no cheese as there was a queue like the M25 around the counter - but I did fall slightly under the festive shopping spell, or perhaps it was a pine-needle/roast dinner/ho-ho-ho spray drifting down from the sprinkler system forcing us into goodwill to all food manufacturers.
My purchase, a very small box of 30% off After Eight mints. Just for nostalgia of the 70s reasons.

                     

                     

NON, c'est pas possible . . .

But it is. I always thought of here, (France) being quite sensible about the Christmas onslaught.
Usually, the consumerism madness commences within the sacred month of December . . . well, perhaps a few hints from the larger companies, especially the global types such as Amazon - Bonjour, madame. We notice you have been looking at Star Wars figurines, (uh? I have?) therefore, why not get your Christmas purchases out of the way?
This year, sadly, there have been increasing signs of early festive enthusiasm. The streets are already hung with (unlit) strands of coloured lights and annoying LED figurines of happy elves, etc; and I've noticed that a lot of villages leave their 'Bonnes fetes' signs up all year now: grey plastic ghosts of Christmas that seem incongruous to say the least on a rampantly hot August day. I suppose it saves money, the town caretaker not having to get his ladder out twice a year - but it does somewhat quash any real festive spirit that might be lurking in HUMBUG people like me.
Anyway . . . the real reason I felt instantly depressed at the thought of all the twinkly, nightmare stuff still to come appeared on a trip into our local hardware 'shed'. I only went in to buy a light bulb, but was transfixed with disbelief as I stared at a Santa's Grotto type shed, surrounded by hideous, useless items such as statues of fairies, polar bears, Ho-Ho-Ho water bottle covers, etc, etc, and presided over by a gyrating cuddly reindeer singing 'Santa Claus is coming To Town'.
'The fuck he is,' I muttered, and hurried to the lighting section fearing I would never again be able to smugly say - 'Oh, we don't really start all that rubbish until at least December the first, here'.