Monday, November 30, 2009

Christmas shopping

Modern life is rubbish, says some bloke who thinks the world is becoming too left-brained, which is to say: “an increasingly mechanistic, fragmented, decontextualised world, marked by unwarranted optimism, mixed with paranoia and a feeling of emptiness.”

I wonder if he’s talking about internet shopping. Personally I love being able to do my Christmas shopping on the internet, but on Saturday morning I realised that a packed December schedule and particular requirements were going to force me to do some non-internet, ie. physical, ie. real-life, ie. interpersonal, ie. oldskool shopping in the centre of Bristol that very day. So I did what I always do in such emergencies – got up at the crack of Saturday and got in there quick before the hordes. It was raining, I was moderately hung over and the only two shops I’d been pinning my hopes on failed to deliver. All this befouled my mood. But on the offchance I popped into St Nicholas Market, the hippy-centre of Bristol retail. And do you know, the brilliant little Nails Gallery yielded the Perfect Thing; exactly what I was looking for. And then a quick mooch around the rest of the hippy stalls yielded two more Perfect Things and suddenly the trip was a triumph.

Bucked, I strolled off to buy some breakfast from a hippy food merchant. I enquired of him of what a rather tasty-looking example of savoury pastry consisted. Of.
“That’s a nice vegetarian tomato and cheese pasty,” said the hippy.
“Oh in that case I’ll have a sausage roll,” I said, chuckling.
“Ah, sorry for swearing at you, saying the word ‘vegetarian’” said the hippy, chortling.
“Well, my wife’s a vegetarian. I’m virtually a vegetarian,” I said, snickering. “So when I’m out on my own I make sure to get some dead animal.”
“I get you,” said the hippy, giggling. “When you come in it’s all Where have you been, at the steak bar?”
“And I say, No honest love, I was only at the strip club,” I said, hooting.
This went on for some time, by the end of which our improvisational double-act had reached the comedic heights of, say, ooooh, Hale and Pace, and we were virtually rolling on the floor.

I marched perkily back to the car with my Perfect Things and the sausage roll crumbs sprinkling my coat like Christmas snowflakes. The rain was gone, the sunlight was beautiful, Castle Green is beautiful, Bristol is beautiful. Hippies are great. Christmas shopping is great. The internet is great. Modern life is rubbish. God bless you all.


worm said...

and god bless Tiny Tim!

Brit said...

Nah sod him, soppy little bastard.

Peter Burnet said...

Great post! I could just feel your right brain breaching those left brain lines and moving in for the strike. It's reassuring to know it can still score a golden goal after having played nothing but defence since the Industrial Revolution.

Peter Burnet said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
malty said...

I assume that your'e talking about this reedy voiced poufter, not the other grovelling little waster.
Doing your own Xmas shopping Brit, modern men, what a bunch of gladioli.

Brit said...

So you don't want your pressie, then Malty?

Gaw said...

That humorous hippy was a veritable Mitcham Cabbage, no? Afterwards, you probably found yourself involuntarily smiling at strangers.

Brit said...

Yes, defo an MC, Gaw. Saturday was full of them.

Gadjo Dilo said...

Vegetarians need us, Brit, it's a symbiotic thing, keep nature in balance and all that. (Mitcham Cabbage?? I can't remember any Robert Mitcham film in which he had a role that might have engendered such a thing, and I'm a fan.)

Miss E. J. Frogster said...

Are you in the mood for angels then? Here are some

"Gordon Brown be my Angel" (lyrics annotated) (BETTER SOUND QUALITY)

Brahms Lullaby

Gordon Brown! Gordon Brown!
Will you be my angel?
Guardian angel is what I meant
Will you rescue my soul?

For you are in charge
Of these people I wrote to
Stephen Timms, Jack Straw
Let me place my trust in you

Gordon Brown! MP’s!
Let me sing out loud
For what you do, for my country
For my reproductive system

You right wrongs! My right’s been wronged
I am desperate for you
Not just you! There’s Jon Herring
I’m a violated woman

Gordon Brown, help me sleep!
Help me sleep like a baby
Will my babies ever come out?
Maternal desires!
I lost my womanhood
In a sinister curse
Gordon Brown! Bring it back!
You are perfect for that!

Miss E. J. Frogster said...

My subjective interpretation, relating to my song "Gordon Brown be my Angel" is that modern life is rubbish because the legal system is as crap as it was 126 years ago, which is why I've submitted my female reproductive system to Gordon Brown relatively recently...