It has occurred to me of late, having re-read the stuff on this blog several times, wincing at every grammatical error and charmless insult, that one might accuse me of being a bit miserable. That being a grumpy bastard may just be my raisin d’etre. Well I’m thoroughly insulted by that suggestion (that I’ve just made to myself) so I’ve decided to redress the balance and write something so buoyantly uplifting, so radiantly effervescent, so shimmeringly positive that if you read it too quickly your pants would disintegrate. Here goes.
November is shit.
However there are some truly brilliant things that happen in November and as the title brazenly, swaggeringly suggests these things need to be celebrated. To be honest there are far too many amazing aspects to this merry month that if I wrote about all of them in one go it might break the internet, so here’s just a sample.
- Bonfire night. Oh no, hold on, bonfire night is a waste of time, money and oxygen. My fault, let’s start again.
- Darkness. We all like a bit of darkness don’t we? I love it when it’s dark at night and I’m trying to sleep. I really like it when you turn out the lights in the bedroom and it’s also dark outside because then I know it’s the night time and time to get some well-earned rest. Because that’s what humans are programmed to do. Having said this I must say I’m not so keen when I’m at work, during the daytime that is, maybe mid-afternoon, and I look out of the window and suddenly start to imagine I’m standing in a closed wardrobe with a bag on my head. What the fuck, I say to myself with a cheery voice, is it night time already, why am I not curled up on the sofa watching a bunch of intellectually and morally derelict arsebags on The Apprentice. Daylight saving is such a load of bollocks. Total daylight saved? Fucking all of it, and stuffed somewhere we’ll never find it. Let’s face the facts, no matter what you do with the time in late October, November is dark and miserable regardless, so why add to the misery by making us go round the house changing clocks, which for some reason we’ve hung on the most inaccessible parts of the wall. In an average house is there really any need to hang a clock at a height greater than the furthest extent of our tiptoed reach? Of course not, we don’t all live in the Sistine Chapel, but we still do it, craning on the kitchen chair as we try to visualise where the clock loop is in relation to the nail sticking out at an awkward angle. Those clocks with no markings are great too, the one’s where you just have to guess the time and hope for the best. Is that Father Time trying to be ironic? I am time, I am always here but then I am not, aren’t I mysterious? The only good thing about putting the clocks back is the extra hour on Sunday morning, though most of the excitement is actually drained out of the situation the night before when you realise you can watch another hour of Channel 5’s, crap celebrity annotated list/countdown programme like ‘The hundred best numbers between 0 and 100’. Who knew 73 was so popular. I nicked that idea from somewhere else, sorry. Anyway, once that hour has been chewed up that’s it, nothing to celebrate for half a year until the clocks change again and we can bellyache about losing an hour. Thanks Father Time. Oh and thanks to all farmers for coming up with the idea in the first place. Is that true or am I making it up? (I know this is really an October issue but it’s not October any more and I’m still annoyed.)
- Christmas markets. Christmas markets always start in November to sate the appetites of those who like to get on top of Christmas, as it were. I love a Christmas market. I’ve never actually been to a proper one. You know the type with gentle snowfall and people with fluffy earmuffs and frosty breath and children wearing mittens, skating happily and women with wicker baskets and church bells ringing and everything twinkling and sparkling and mugs of guilt free mulled wine. Of course these only exist in the imagination and on the continent where they seem to ‘get’ Christmas markets. Probably because the get a proper Christmas. British Christmas markets are all about persistent drizzle and overhead heaters turned onto the ‘cook human flesh’ function, and muddy fields and the smell of cheap onions frying and shitty little kids shouting and crying and grabbing at stuff and running into you, and having to park your car 3 miles away, and pissing buckets of money on badly made shit that won’t last and guilt ridden, watered down mulled fucking cider which you can’t drink because you’re driving and grumpy stall owners who can’t cut their prices because ‘this place mat was hand made in my cottage kitchen using my husbands pubic hairs etc’. There are sometimes children skating though. Only on jigsaw puzzle slabs of rubbish artificial ice, tripping up and slicing each others knuckles off in the process. Finally getting home after a British Christmas market. Now that is worth celebrating. Woo…………wait for it…………..hoo.
- French markets. Not the nice ones in France but the pretend ones that come over from Calais just as soon as they change their price banners to the ones which quadruple the cost for us English pig dogs. Oh yes!! I can’t believe I’m actually buying real soap. The original type of soap with big words stamped on the side that prove its authentic soap, not the rubbish we get in Tesco. Oh yes!!! Saucisson. I love saucisson, especially when it’s made from kangaroo, authentic French kangaroo. Or ostrich, genuine French ostrich. Why not diversify them further and have saucisson made from otter, or panda, or Komodo dragon, all of which, scientists have recently proved, originated in the Loire Valley. Mmmmm. (My ‘the wife’ has just asked if it’s not called a Kimono dragon, as in the big lizards dressed in skimpy silk dressing gowns. Love you darling.) Oh yes!!!! Insanely overpriced cheese. I love insanely overpriced cheese. What’s that? £27.35! Oh hold on, I’ll just have to go to the cash point and dip into my overdraft. On second thoughts why don’t you shove that piece of Morbier up your pinched arsehole while I push your stall down a hill into a broken glass factory. Oh yes!!!!!! I love shuffling along in a huge stalling, hiccuping queue, catching 7 different colds, and being hoodwinked just as many times before stumbling across the exact same products in Lidl the next morning. Only much, much, much cheaper. Oh yes!!!!!!!! Let’s celebrate.
- Driving. Or in this case the moment that 99% of people forget to drive. It usually takes a week to settle in once we’ve tinkered with those pesky clocks but from then on everyone scratches their head for at least a month as they try to remember that driving in the pissing rain and howling wind and remorseless darkness actually requires some thought. Incidents of cars hurling themselves into each other on motorways blossom like Ebola in a refugee camp. That drive home from work triples in length just as useful traffic reports on the radio halve in number. The one I heard from ‘Sally Traffic’ (Is that her real name? What are the chances?) on Radio 2 the other day said that there was a queue on the clockwise M25 from Junction 9 to Junction 27. Do you realise how far that is? Apparently one of the contributing factors was a fucking idiot lorry driver shedding their load on the M11 slip road. He was transporting lard. Seriously!! Not just shedding a load of stuff but a load of slippery stuff. On a rain sodden, bible black November afternoon. Clumsy twat.
- Movember. No Mr Spellcheck, I’m not surprised you don’t like that spelling, because it’s wrong isn’t it? Wrong and shit. If you have the kind of face that looks good with a moustache then you have two choices – grow one or don’t. If you have the kind of face that doesn’t look good with a moustache then you have but one choice (therefore no choice) – don’t fucking bother, people will think you’re a cock either way if they want to. Instead just raise money for charity by promising to shave every morning for a whole month. And make sure it’s a worthwhile charity. Like the Elton John and David Furnish Foundation for Cross-eyed, Humpbacked, Club-footed, Malaria Riddled, One-Legged, Confused, Transgender African kids with headaches.
- I’m running out of ideas. See, I told you there are things to celebrate in November.
- Oooooh yes, I’ve got another one. Lucky you. Black Friday and lightning deals on Amazon. I really do love Amazon. I miss going to big record shops a lot but I still love Amazon. It makes me sad that most town centres are depressingly empty and rundown these days, but I still love Amazon. Black Friday on Amazon is really just an internet version of a yard sale. Hi guys, look at all this crap we found at the back of our warehouse, which is the size of Namibia. Bargain #1 – Radflex Radiator Reflector (3 pack), 18% claimed already. Quick get it now, just in case you get attacked by a radiator. 3 times. Bargain #2 -Beyonce Midnight Heat Eau De Parfum (100ml for £9.99, down from £32.75). Quick, 75% already claimed, be one of the remaining 25% to make your throat close and eyelids swell up every time you go near your wife. Made with genuine piss and bile from a genuine lab rabbit. Bargain #3 – Pet Training Pads, Regular, 50 Count, 20% off RRP. So that all your pets can ignore them before urinating and/or crapping with pinpoint accuracy over your favourite sofa cushion, with a little bit on the remote control to show they love you. Bargain #4 – Silverline 522597 gas hose with connectors, 49% off, 25% claimed. Gee, someone had better get ready for a cracking Christmas morning surprise. I assume they only have 4 in stock. And so on.
- The turning on of the Christmas lights. Brilliant, let’s get Christmas going with some lights on Oxford Street. Let’s get Kylie to do it. Ok, when? Near Christmas I suppose, shall we say early December, you know, the Christmas month. Alright then I’ll book her for the 1st of November so we can really get into the holiday mood. What fucking holiday? There isn’t one for nearly 2 sodding months you grim little council wanker. I suppose at least they managed to get Kylie. Imagine having a life so empty that you would actually turn up to see the following ‘stars’ (this lot all did it somewhere, sometime) – Toby Anstis, Joe McElderry, Kirstie Allsopp, Ben Fogle, Jedward (I spent a hard earned £100 to have those little eunuchs knocked off in a Mexican drug cartel style hit ages ago, what happened to my money Sancho and Carlos?), Peppa Pig (????!!!!), Cannon and Ball and of course Top Gear’s Stig, turning on a light anywhere. I’ll tell you what, I’ll open the oven door and stick my head in and all you have to do is turn on the gas. Deal? We could use that hose you bought on Amazon.
- There are only 23 days left before it’s over. Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight.
So that’s it. Ten glowing, positive, amazing things about November that you probably never even thought to stop and celebrate. Now I can go away and get back to being a miserable toad. Have a happy month.