Blog.  It is New Year’s day 2024 and I sit here, having missed out on the Christmas I would have had, had I not been blighted by blasted Covid.  Beforehand, I had been somewhat in the Xmas spirit, due to various choir events that took place during November and December. I generally find that the festive spirit eludes me, especially when our local Tesco starts stocking up on Lindt Christmas teddy bears – and mince pies – in October.  How can you jump the Christmas gun like that, you ridiculous retailers, I think, whilst averting my eyes from the premature merry madness.  And, by the way, my local Tesco have now replaced the mince pies and Christmas puddings with Easter eggs and Lindt Easter rabbits.  I refuse to engage with the notion that Spring is just around the corner, even if that means desisting from the oodles of chocolate on display.

The first choir event was not xmas related, but it marked the start of choir’s run up to Christmas.  It was our local town’s Remembrance Service.  I was exempt from singing duties via being asked to perform keyboard duties for choir.  Our pianist had absconded many musical moons ago and our leader has yet to find a replacement.   Whilst sitting at the keyboard I found myself directly behind Suella Braverman no less, who got sacked a couple of days later.  Ms Braverman’s every move was recorded via a young woman flashing a mobile in her face (I hope my noggin’s not on any of those photos.)

The service ended with an ear-splitting set of bagpipes. I’m quite divided on the bagpipes as a musical instrument. In the right hands, the bagpipes can sound haunting and emotive – so long as you and they are in different counties. In the wrong hands, at unnerving close quarters, it’s like an assault to the brain, ears and eyes (yes eyes, my eyes shut automatically against the onslaught.)  Not only that but the pipes set up a fight or flight response in yours truly’s addled brain – should I hurl something at the offending player or just run away?  The only other musical torture that comes close to the bagpipes is being within accidental earshot of an amateur brass band.

Choir then sang at the turning on of the Christmas lights in our town, presided over by the local vicar.  We sang a couple of carols, but the crowds were really there for the kids’ choirs from local schools, and rightly so. Can’t beat young, loud and chirpy voices. Mr Vicar really worked the crowd as we all shouted out the countdown to the switching on of the lights – a string of colourful light bulbs strung between trees.  Quite minimalist in style admittedly but also charming. Apparently, this is all the local community ‘hub’ can afford, being they have to pay for it. Speaking of which, I was nigh on assaulted by an aged community hub volunteer, rattling her collection bucket in my face, as I stood waiting with the rest of choir. I felt in my coat pockets – nothing – forgetting that, since Covid, I don’t carry cash anymore.  ‘I don’t have any change,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry.’   ‘Do you realise we pay for the lights every year and the tree?  she shouted (due to background crowd noise.)  ‘Well, I am now’ I’d thought. ‘It doesn’t pay for itself. We rely on donations. You should think about carrying money when you come to these events.’  I should have told her that I was part of the event, sort of doing my bit anyway for the community, but I didn’t.  I should have told her a couple of other things too, but politesse forbade me.  She then advised me to bring ‘pennies’ with me next year so I’d at least have something to put in the buckets and carried on with ‘you don’t know how difficult it’s been for charities since Covid, and nobody carrying money anymore’ before walking off, presumably to assault somebody else.  Nothing like spreading a bit of Christmas cheer, I thought morosely.

We also (or some of us) sang carols in the Parish Hall for the oldies group who meet there for Christmas dinner – paid for via a little local grant. You really learn about these nice little local authority ‘touches’ when you’re out and about doing community stuff. One of our choir members kept the whole thing jolly by continually reading out cracker jokes she’d kept the year before.  I kept things less jolly by imagining my white-haired self, a few years down the line, possibly attending similar lonely oldies’ clubs. I quelled such dreaded thoughts by belting out the jolly carols with added Christmas gusto and laughing a bit too hysterically at the cracker jokes.

And then we had two carol services at the local 900-year-old church.  I had (or rather did have) a little solo at the second of these services, singing the first verse of Once in Royal David’s City. I went round the house belting this verse out for several weeks beforehand, only to succumb to pesky, pestilential Covid on the day of the solo. ‘Oh well’ thought I, as I shivered on the sofa, running a temperature, my brain weirdly zapping and flashing lights occurring in my peripheral vision, ‘things could be worse.’  Except Covid also meant that son no.2 and partner could no longer come for Christmas and, with son no.1, and grandkiddies, spending Christmas elsewhere, our Christmas felt much depleted.

And, as I sit here rambling (because I thought you and I should touch base Blog, but I’ve really nothing of much muchness to say) I’m thinking back to Christmases past, and New Years past, and wondering if life really was better back then, or if the curse of nostalgia means I’m condemned to never fully living in the ‘now’.  And one such now moment was pretty darned good.  In spite of our Covid (the husband also succumbed) we were determined to do the one Christmassy thing that we’d booked months ago, and that was Marwell Glow, or Glow Marwell (not sure.)

Marwell Zoo is a lovely place to which we used to take the sons years ago.  A no cage zoo, where the animals roam about the park land behind wooden fencing, and the more dangerous ones behind high metal fencing so, cages of a sort I grant you, but at least the animals roam around in areas which look more like their natural habitats.

Last year Marwell introduced their first Christmas lights attractions.  Back in the very long ago, we used to take the sons to see Father Christmas at Marwell, every year.  It’s a moot point as to whether the sons actually enjoyed meeting Santa on an annual basis. Their usual reaction was one of deep distrust, some might say abject terror, when presented with the bulky, bearded, ho ho ho’ing vision that is Mr Claus, especially after they’d had to queue for hours through a long dark tunnel that wound its way to Santa’s Grotto in the depths of Marwell Hall. No wonder they thought they were potentially meeting the Devil in the bowels of Hell.

Son no.1, with his ever-present gung-ho spirit, felt the fear but did it anyway. Sons no’s 2 and 3 had, on occasion, to be pushed with some force into Santa’s vicinity, with the assurance that everything was ok; nothing bad was going to happen; honestly, really. But then Marwell stopped this lovely christmassy event and I seem to remember their website being filled with appeals for donations or the zoo was in danger of closing.  And after the sons grew up, Marwell sort of fell off my radar, until I saw the Glow advertised last year. 

So we ambled our way around the zoo, 9 days ago, on a lovely clear and frosty night, afflicted by Covid but not feeling too bad at all (the husband managed to consume an enormous frankfurter hot dog with relish (and actual relish)).  We weren’t coughing, or sneezing, or doing much of anything Covid-related at all, and felt that the outdoor nature of the event meant the odds of passing our germs on were nil.  Son no.1 and partner came, along with son no.3, so this felt like we were getting a bit of our Christmas after all.

The lights trail was magical. And we saw a tiger roaming behind his fence, in the dark, which was both exciting and (for me) very scary indeed – what if he escapes, I kept whinging.  And there was a sort of puppet show (huge puppets that some of the performers ‘wore’) and the puppets were lit from within.  Yes, it was all lovely. 

Here’s a lit up puppet owl and a couple of stags. These pictures are very bad. I took photos from paused videos on my phone.

Anyway Blog, happy new year to you.