Well, it’s that time of year again! Time that I bid you my festive farewells before I bugger off to somewhere untouched by the gentle fingers of Yuletide joy. Sort of, it appears the hostel we are staying in for Xmas is doing a load of stuff, parties and the like, on Christmas day so I still get to enjoy the season.
Just a quick bye bye this time as I have to get packed and head down to Hannah’s in preparation for an early start tomorrow but rest assured that I miss everyone back home and really do wish you the best possible Christmas and the happiest of Happy New Years. Let not the Golden Ball go empty, my friends!
I shall leave you with this; my entry into a recent “Favourite Christmas Memory” survey/competition thing:
Picture the scene, if you will. The year is 1998, the Millennium minus 2. December. The wind is blowing icicle chills through anyone caught outside, as it carries the faint tinkle of Christmas songs through the air. On the horizon the low bulk of a concrete shopping centre stands firm against the chill, the water cascading from its roof in a steady stream of wet ice.
Inside is a different story. Instead of icicles here is tinsel instead; no wind, but smells of mince pies and mulled wine drift sleepily. Shoppers go about their business with the hushed fervour that signifies the Shopping Days to Christmas are almost no more. Lone fathers prowl the toy stores searching manically for this Season’s must have, mothers drag resisting children by the hand and old couples wander peacefully, gazing at the chaos that engulfs them.
Surrounded by this whirling maelstrom of consumerism stand a bold group, a dozen souls or so strong. Their stony silence and grim faced determination soon begins to spread, the crowd slowing its progress as the people turn their faces, reddened by the cold and the free brandy outside Superdrug, towards the small, tastefully shod ensemble.
Suddenly, a flash of light, a glint of metal; the group explodes in a flurry of activity. The crowd stand motionless, mouths agape as all of a sudden…music fills the air. A trumpet soars into the high octaves, the tuba and euphonium ring out a rhythm as regular as a clock, the flutes patter the air with high pitched staccato and the trombone roars combine the sounds into one, harmonic whole.
…
Five minutes later, two of them have fainted from lack of breath and the old couple, rather obviously drunk off their deerstalkers, won’t stop requesting Bing Crosby. The small group are paid in doughnuts from the local Burtons and as they wander back to the High School with rapidly developing colds, escape plans are drawn...
Or something like that. My high school band used to play in the local shopping centre every Christmas and I’ll always remember those days as some of the best I ever had there. Not only would we get a whole half-day off school, we would indeed get free (or at least reduced) doughnuts and pastry from the Burtons we’d set up outside of and the crowds we’d attract would often get intimidatingly large. So, more of an occasion than a memory. However, my favourite time of all was when my brother, at this point on the Alto Sax, did actually pass out from lack of breath. I got to go home early! At high school!
Best. Day. Ever.
