Damien awoke with a start to discover another person in his bedroom. At first he thought he was dreaming as the other person, though considerably older and dressed in an outlandish pink suit, looked alarmingly like…well… like Damien.
“Hello,” said Damien, who in spite of this clear intrusion of his personal space, was never one to be rude, “can I help you?”
The other person stared at Damien for a moment and then emphatically announced “y
Damien awoke with a start to discover another person in his bedroom. At first he thought he was dreaming as the other person, though considerably older and dressed in an outlandish pink suit, looked alarmingly like…well… like Damien.
“Hello,” said Damien, who in spite of this clear intrusion of his personal space, was never one to be rude, “can I help you?”
The other person stared at Damien for a moment and then emphatically announced “yes Damien, yes you can help me. And not only me, but the entire human race. Yes, you very much can.”
“Ok,” replied Damien, still somewhat perplexed at the situation, “I’d love to help, really I would. But also, who are you?”
“I’d have thought it was obvious Damien,” replied the man, “I’m quite clearly you.”
“Yes, well the thing is, and no disrespect intended, but you can’t be me,” countered Damien, “because I’m pretty sure that I am me.”
“Yes, yes yes,” said the man with no small degree of irritation, “yes, you are very clearly you. But I am also you. And indeed I am me, and you are also me.”
“I don’t think that’s really how things work,” said Damien, eyeing his phone and wondering if a call to the emergency services might be in order.
The man looked at Damien with mild contempt, “Damien, I know you well enough to understand this is a difficult concept to get your head around, but I’m still a little disappointed in quite how challenging you’re finding all of this. I’m pretty sure that when I was you I got there a little quicker.”
Damien was slightly affronted and still a little sceptical, but he also acknowledged that, were the situation really as it was currently being presented by this person who purported to be him, then that was just the kind of no-nonsense attitude that he would imagine his future self would display.
“Ok,” he replied, “I’m going to put my doubts to one side for a moment, and frankly the logistics of all of this are definitely beyond me. How can I save humanity ‘future me’?”
Future Damien relaxed, “That’s the Damien I know. Now it’s important that you listen carefully, because when I was you I didn’t and that didn’t end too well.”
“But, if you’ve already been me, then am I not predestined to do what you did, and also not listen properly?” asked Damien.
“That’s a very good question Damien,” replied Future Damien, “and one that I asked when I was you. Unfortunately all I got then was a compliment and no real answer from my future self.”
“And you seem to be repeating that very pattern right now,” said Damien.
“I know,” said Future Damien, “it seems like I’m reading some kind of predetermined script.”
“Which possibly makes your intervention a bit pointless,”
“Yes, that’s what I said when I was you,” laughed Future Damien, “and we were both right.”
And with that Future Damien disappeared.
“Well that was different,” said Damien to himself as he tucked himself back into his bed, “I wonder at what point in the future I start to wear pink suits.”
In the early hours of A crisp January morning I went for a run
My way was initially lit By street lamps Whose reflections sparkled Like glitter In the ground frost belowBut as I hit the banks of the Thames The darkness was punctuatedOnly by the stars above me Shining brightly in the clear winter sky
Save for slumbering swans I was entirely alone With only my thoughts for company
And as the frozen leaves Crunched beneath my feet I began to reflect And I came to realise Just h
In the early hours of A crisp January morning I went for a run
My way was initially lit By street lamps Whose reflections sparkled Like glitter In the ground frost below But as I hit the banks of the Thames The darkness was punctuated Only by the stars above me Shining brightly in the clear winter sky
Save for slumbering swans I was entirely alone With only my thoughts for company
And as the frozen leaves Crunched beneath my feet I began to reflect And I came to realise Just how much I hate running And January
It turns out That pandemics are not just about Highly infectious diseases
They are also about Competency Logistics And cooperation Either exemplary Or a lack thereof
And they are about values Sometimes shared Often not
And about divisions in society Some previously unseen Others exacerbated
And as they go on And on And on They become increasingly about Patience And tolerance Holding on to them As both become exhausted commodities
But as I reflect On the trials and tribul
It turns out That pandemics are not just about Highly infectious diseases
They are also about Competency Logistics And cooperation Either exemplary Or a lack thereof
And they are about values Sometimes shared Often not
And about divisions in society Some previously unseen Others exacerbated
And as they go on And on And on They become increasingly about Patience And tolerance Holding on to them As both become exhausted commodities
But as I reflect On the trials and tribulations Of this pandemic I can console myself With the knowledge That it’s been a long time Since I worried about toilet paper.
It’s an old adage That honesty is the best policy But one doesn’t often find honesty In many policies One may find statements With synonyms of honestyAmbitions of honesty And a general sense of honestyWithin the document But by and large When contrasting Policy and practice The policy will Generally be found To be dishonest
Also very few institutions If any at all Have an honesty policyjamproc
It’s an old adage That honesty is the best policy But one doesn’t often find honesty In many policies One may find statements With synonyms of honesty Ambitions of honesty And a general sense of honesty Within the document But by and large When contrasting Policy and practice The policy will Generally be found To be dishonest
Also very few institutions If any at all Have an honesty policy
It’s Sunday evening as I write this and thus the end of the first weekend after the post-Christmas return to work. It was not a vintage weekend – it started with a broken phone. A few years back a broken phone meant very little to me – I even once blogged about how little inconvenience I had experienced when deprived of a previously malfunctioning handset. But these days it’s more of a concern. Not because I need it to get in touch with anyone or indeed because I
It’s Sunday evening as I write this and thus the end of the first weekend after the post-Christmas return to work. It was not a vintage weekend – it started with a broken phone. A few years back a broken phone meant very little to me – I even once blogged about how little inconvenience I had experienced when deprived of a previously malfunctioning handset. But these days it’s more of a concern. Not because I need it to get in touch with anyone or indeed because I wish for anyone to get in touch with me, but because back in 2015, when I wrote about not being bothered about not having a phone, I didn’t really have a very good phone. I still used a separate camera to take pictures and while I had just about switched from listening to CDs to listening to downloads, I was still listening to music I had bought and paid for on a device that was specifically designed for playing music. These days my camera, and my music player are my phone. Also back in 2015 I had a landline, but I don’t even have that anymore. My phone, unbeknownst to me, has become a pretty essential part of my life. It’s also mainly how I tell the time. I’m not necessarily thrilled that it has come to be this way, but that is the world I live in now. A broken phone is apparently now an inconvenience.
Fortunately my phone was fixable. I’m actually due an upgrade from my provider in a few months so I didn’t want to spend a fortune on a repair and I was already envisaging days without access to the device due to said overpriced repair. However, in my town, as I’m sure is the case in a lot of towns, there are a number of establishments in the centre which are commonly referred to as ‘dodgy phone shops’. I would never normally give them a second thought, but I felt that my handheld device was already beyond saving and there was only so much damage that could come from trying them out. The one I tried came recommended from a fairly reliable source, but still seemed like the kind of establishment that would be best avoided by anyone that wants to remain on familiar terms with their wages. But as it turned out my prejudices were unfounded as, mere hours after my device malfunctioned, it was in working order again and the price I paid was incredibly reasonable. I’m not necessarily a convert to the ‘dodgy phone shop’ way of life, but it was, on this occasion, a surprisingly gratifying experience.
This was, as it turns out, all to the good, because, rather unusually, people were trying to get hold of me in the hours that my phone was out of action and Little Proclaims would have missed out on a rather enjoyable playdate this afternoon had I not been able to receive those communications. Instead Little Proclaims had a wonderful afternoon and I enjoyed the bonus of her having an early night thanks to her having expended much of her considerable energy resources running around with her friend pretending to be a unicorn.
Little Proclaims does not always pretend to be a unicorn. Earlier today, when we went to the first of her post-Christmas swimming lessons, she announced to her swimming instructor, and indeed to all the other parents and children, that she was a giraffe.
Little Proclaims is three, and I’m told this is normal behaviour for three-year-olds. However she was the only child in the class to claim to be a different species and I’m not sure a giraffe is well suited to swimming. But if this weekend has taught me anything, it’s to be a little more open-minded.
However, I’m not really sure this weekend has taught me anything.
I tried explaining That money isn’t everything That it can’t buy you happiness That it can’t buy you love That it is, in fact The root of all evil That, as much as I might try I can’t put my money Where my mouth is Because my mouth is already there And money makes a poor substitution For a mouth
Yes I tried explaining that Money isn’t everything But apparently my mortgage provider Would still quite like my money In exchange for allowing me To live in my
I tried explaining That money isn’t everything That it can’t buy you happiness That it can’t buy you love That it is, in fact The root of all evil That, as much as I might try I can’t put my money Where my mouth is Because my mouth is already there And money makes a poor substitution For a mouth
Yes I tried explaining that Money isn’t everything But apparently my mortgage provider Would still quite like my money In exchange for allowing me To live in my house
I appear to have unintentionally had another hiatus on my blog. Having posted daily throughout November and December, I started January in a similar vein, but, as has oft been my way, once I missed a day, I just stopped entirely. I seem to be very much a boom or bust blogger.
It’s not like there hasn’t been anything to write about. Pandemics, parties and Prime Ministers have been dominating UK news for weeks. Often in the same headline. I’ve never been averse to moc
I appear to have unintentionally had another hiatus on my blog. Having posted daily throughout November and December, I started January in a similar vein, but, as has oft been my way, once I missed a day, I just stopped entirely. I seem to be very much a boom or bust blogger.
It’s not like there hasn’t been anything to write about. Pandemics, parties and Prime Ministers have been dominating UK news for weeks. Often in the same headline. I’ve never been averse to mocking the UK government or offering an irreverent opinion on the state of the nation.
My three-year-old daughter, who has inspired more than a few of my outpourings in recent years, has also been on fine form lately. Just today (which is yesterday – I’m writing this a day ahead of time in the mistaken belief that it will afford me an element of quality control) she has fallen asleep on my shoulder during her swimming lesson, loudly declared that I am a pain in the backside and sung several Christmas songs, all of which, with a little added context, might have made for entertaining blog posts.
But instead I’m writing this.
This isn’t really anything.
But I thought it might be better than nothing.
Just while I wait for the return of my absent muse.
As January comes to an end, much to the relief, no doubt, of people who like to blame arbitrary measures of time for all the ills in the world, I am given pause to reflect on how little I would have achieved had I made any New Year Resolutions. Fortunately I did not, so any lack of personal development on my part is far more to do with the status quo than any specific time-sensitive failings.
Of the many lifestyle changes I did not adopt this month, I reserve special mention for vega
As January comes to an end, much to the relief, no doubt, of people who like to blame arbitrary measures of time for all the ills in the world, I am given pause to reflect on how little I would have achieved had I made any New Year Resolutions. Fortunately I did not, so any lack of personal development on my part is far more to do with the status quo than any specific time-sensitive failings.
Of the many lifestyle changes I did not adopt this month, I reserve special mention for veganism. Veganuary is a concept that enjoys a fairly large following and veganism on the whole appears to be far more popular than ever it was. The reasons for adopting this lifestyle are myriad, but potentially include health benefits, financial incentives and environmentalism among the factors which are driving people to give up animal products.
On a personal level, I enjoy eating meat, but I’ve been married to an ‘almost vegetarian’ for close to twelve years (Mrs Proclaims occasionally eats fish so would therefore be dubbed a pescatarian by those in the know) so I don’t consume as much meat as I might and it wouldn’t actually be that much of a hardship to give it up.
I would find it much harder to give up dairy products though. A world without ice-cream is one I’m not sure I’d ever want to live in, I’ve yet to find a substitute for butter that makes toast worth contemplating and chocolate is quite often the only reason I am able to navigate my working day.
But I might find cheese the most difficult of all to give up. I really like cheese in all its many forms. Yesterday evening I was enjoying a soft blue cheese which was, according to the packaging, a ‘blue Brie’. This heavenly concoction combined the creamy texture of the soft French cheese with the more pungent delights of a Stilton or a Roquefort. I am very much a fan of blue Bries.
But it occurred to me that were I to make this claim out loud I might well be misunderstood and a benefactor might instead decide to furnish me with blueberries.
I don’t mind blueberries, but they would hardly satisfy my craving for coagulated milk protein.
Still, it would be worse for Mrs Proclaims, who detests cheese of all kinds but is partial to small pulpy fruit, were she to be presented with blue Brie rather than blueberries.
I don’t know if there is point to this musing, other than to raise awareness of the potential dangers of homophones. Irrespective of which side of the blueberry/blue Brie divide you sit on.
But I’m fast becoming convinced that those dangers are very real.
It’s been a while since last I blogged and in that time the world has gone from being predominantly concerned with a pandemic to being predominantly concerned with a war. This is hardly an improvement all things considered.
Indeed so horrendous is the current status quo, that I need to acknowledge, from the outset, that this diatribe is evidently self-indulgent and in no way an indication that I have any real problems whatsoever. But these things happened, they annoyed me, and c
It’s been a while since last I blogged and in that time the world has gone from being predominantly concerned with a pandemic to being predominantly concerned with a war. This is hardly an improvement all things considered.
Indeed so horrendous is the current status quo, that I need to acknowledge, from the outset, that this diatribe is evidently self-indulgent and in no way an indication that I have any real problems whatsoever. But these things happened, they annoyed me, and currently the only recourse I have is to moan about them on this blog. Which I’m about to do.
Sunday the 20th March started as so many Sundays do Chez Proclaims with Little Proclaims and I heading off to our nearest swimming pool for her weekly swimming lesson. It was slightly unusual in that we had to go swimming in pyjamas, but that was the theme of the week. It was our first time entering the pool in nightwear, but apparently a thing our swimming school of choice likes to introduce occasionally as a way of teaching the kids how to cope should they fall into a body of water fully clothed. I’m not sure how prepared Little Proclaims now is for that eventuality, but she did enjoy the novelty of wearing her unicorn pyjamas in the pool and so the day started off with much laughter and amusement.
Next on the agenda was our weekly trip to the supermarket, which, as the title of this post has no doubt already revealed, was not quite so positive an experience. Even that started quite well though. It has, for some weeks, been a tradition of ours to follow up our morning swim with a visit to the supermarket café, which opens a full 30 minutes before the shop itself. It’s reasonably priced with perfectly acceptable fare, but normally the service is a little lacking. On this visit though, the service was nothing short of exemplary. Indeed I was quite convinced at this stage, that Sunday the 20th of March was going to be a good day.
Alas I was too quick in my assessment, for it was not long before the downward spiral began. We left the café to embark on the mission of filling our trolley. Little Proclaims likes to ride in the trolley and dictate affairs, while I take on the more perfunctory role of pushing her metal chariot through the aisles. For a while now we have elected to use the ‘scan as you shop’ option, which entails carrying a handheld scanner around with us (which also serves as a phone, laser gun and a multitude of other functions limited only by the fertile imagination of my offspring), and which normally reduces the time taken to pay at the end of the experience (and also limits the amount of human interaction I have to tolerate). On occasion, though, using this system does mean that one is subjected to a random security check by a member of the store staff, presumably to ensure that customers are not tempted to try and sneak items through without paying for them. I have been subjected to a few of these checks, and while they are a minor inconvenience, they never take too long and as I’ve always been scrupulously honest, I’ve never known what the consequences would be if I had accidently forgotten to scan an item in my trolley. But this Sunday I did forget to scan an item. My scanner told me I had £108 worth of goods in my basket, when I did, in fact, have items to the value of £113. I had managed not to scan a bottle of sun cream and as luck would have it, said bottle was one of the items that was selected in the random check.
As criminal enterprises go, attempting to augment the value of one’s shopping by less than 5% does not strike me as the most lucrative or worthwhile of schemes, but it seems the consequences of such a misdemeanour are quite serious. It was not simply a case of adding the miscellaneous item to my bill, as might seem the proportionate response to someone who had managed to scan all of the other goods in the basket. No, clearly such a hardened criminal as this needed to have his entire trolley rescanned by a member of staff, in full view of all of the other shoppers, while his confused child sat in said trolley proclaiming loudly “but I thought we were going home daddy”.
Once a thorough assessment of my trolley had indeed proven that the only item I had forgotten to scan was the aforementioned UV protection, I was permitted to pay for my goods. I did (because in spite of all available evidence I am scrupulously honest) point out that the shop assistant had actually failed to scan an item of even greater value (a princely sum of £13) than that which I had overlooked, thus offering proof that my original discretion might also have been human error, rather than an attempt to build an illegal sunscreen empire. I departed the shop feeling somewhat irritated, but keen to get my now quite animated child home as soon as possible.
Alas my misfortunes did not end there, for as I was reversing out of my parking space I collided with a car that was pulling out of a parking space behind me. Both vehicles were moving, albeit slowly, but as the other car was moving forwards and clearly hit me with more force that I hit it, I was minded to believe that it was the other driver’s fault. He did not agree, viewing it as more of a 50:50 split in terms of responsibility but the fact he didn’t blame me outright suggests that deep down he did know it was his fault. I must confess, though I tried to remain quite polite, I may have descended into rudeness, but it had been quite a trying 20 minutes or so. We exchanged details though I’m not sure how it will pan out – my insurance company is not open to enquiries on Sundays. The damage to my car was relatively minor, but it is quite a new car (indeed one that I acquired not three weeks ago) and thus I’m more sensitive to minor bumps than I might be normally.
I returned home with my shopping in something of a state. I’m not sure whether it was the ‘security check’ or the carpark incident but I felt quite unsettled and needed to restore balance to my world. Alas the insurance company’s reluctance to take phone calls on Sundays meant that that would remain unresolved for a further 24 hours, but I felt I should make the supermarket aware of my chagrin at being treated like a criminal.
Normally I register my displeasure at companies through a passive aggressive email. The act of writing it offers me some release and I normally get a suitably fawning response from the company which, while almost certainly insincere, allows me to get suitable closure. But this company, which has remained nameless thus far, but shall now be named as Tesco, does not provide an opportunity for customers to register their displeasure in writing. So I phoned them. And I spoke to a customer service representative who acknowledged my concerns that a public shaming over a 5% indiscretion was probably not appropriate but who nonetheless repeatedly kept pointing out that it was standard procedure. She assured me that she would let the store in question know about my dissatisfaction but was unable to offer me any assurance as to how that information might be received by the store.
I explained that while I accepted that I had, indeed, erred in failing to scan the sun cream, I did still feel that the matter could have been dealt with more discreetly and proportionately and wondered what follow up there might be in terms of the store acknowledging my concerns. She advised that there would be no follow-up and that if I wanted to speak to the store manager I should have done so while I was in the store. I politely explained that while I did not blame her personally for anything that had transpired, I felt this response to my initial dissatisfaction was also unsatisfactory. With an edge in her voice she suggested that she had done everything she could to help me and that she wasn’t sure what else I wanted. I replied that I too did not know what else I wanted but that, as I remained unhappy, there perhaps should be a further step that she could offer me. With ill-disguised irritation she suggested that she could get her supervisor to call me back. I agreed that this should probably happen.
A few hours later the supervisor called me. He apologised profusely and promised faithfully that he will personally communicate with the store manager to ensure systems are examined to avoid this kind of thing happening again. He and I know that nothing will change with regards Tesco’s operations as a result of our conversation. He and I also know that I will continue to shop at Tesco because it is my nearest supermarket and therefore annoyingly convenient. But he fawned and that is what I needed to find closure so I can now let the matter rest.
On a happier note, the £13 item that the shop assistant almost let me steal was a Disney princess costume that Little Proclaims has delighted in wearing non-stop since we acquired it. And it’s hard to be too downhearted when your three-year-old daughter is running around the house declaring that she is a princess.
It’s the afternoon of Saturday 25th June 2022, as I sit down to write this, and thus attempt to mark the end of a three month sabbatical from blogging. As with many of my previous absences, I had not intended to be away for quite so long but once I lapse into a state of not-blogging, I can find it difficult to revert back to a state of not-not-blogging. Instead I find myself drawn further into a state of non-not-not-blogging. But today I decided to arrest this negativity and to ent
It’s the afternoon of Saturday 25th June 2022, as I sit down to write this, and thus attempt to mark the end of a three month sabbatical from blogging. As with many of my previous absences, I had not intended to be away for quite so long but once I lapse into a state of not-blogging, I can find it difficult to revert back to a state of not-not-blogging. Instead I find myself drawn further into a state of non-not-not-blogging. But today I decided to arrest this negativity and to enter into a state of not-not-not-not-blogging.
Mainly because I found myself with a bit of time on my hands, which has been a rare thing in my post-pandemic existence. If indeed we are actually post-pandemic. It could well be that the pandemic is still a thing and it’s just been a while since I’ve noticed it.
This is possibly due to the multitude of other horrors dominating the news, or the fact that I have been quite busy of late. Probably it’s a bit of both. The news has generally been quite horrible but I have certainly been busy too.
Partly my busyness has been work-related, but while my career dominates quite a lot of my waking hours, it has rarely been a barrier to my platitudinous outpourings for any significant period of time in the past.
I have been on something of a fitness kick of late, and I’ve run no less than five half marathons since November 2021, three of which have taken place in the gap between me writing my last post and me writing this one. Now, it should be noted, that I ran these races incredibly slowly and while I achieved my personal goal of ‘not dying’ in all of them I have little else to brag about. Apart from not coming last in any of them. Which is a small achievement. But I was definitely beaten by a man dressed as a dinosaur in one of them, and narrowly lost out to an octogenarian in my last effort. So it’s fair to say I’m not setting the world of long-distance running on fire. Still I’m nothing if not tenacious and I have already entered several more half marathons in the coming autumn in the hope of one day being able to replicate the much quicker (if still largely unimpressive) half-marathon times I achieved in my twenties. I might even try to match twenty-something me and run a whole marathon again in the future, but currently 13.1 miles is proving a more than sufficient challenge for forty-something me. In any case I’m on something of a ‘summer break’ from my running career, because running a half marathon in the summer, even the underwhelming UK summer, would be genuine madness.
But it wasn’t really the running that was stopping me from blogging either, so my current break from running is not why I have time to blog today.
The main reason I have time to blog today is because Little Proclaims is not well. My almost-four-year-old daughter has been a force of nature since she arrived in our world in August 2018, but lately I’ve found every free moment has been dominated by her. I love spending time with her, but it is, quite frankly, exhausting and while it pains me to see her out of sorts, she is, for the first time in a long time, fairly immobile today. She is currently watching Paw Patrol the Movie for the 85th time, as I write this, which in fairness is always a pretty easy way to get her to stop moving, but normally I feel guilty about resorting to such tactics. Today, however, it seems exactly the right activity for her convalescence, and has permitted me the opportunity to write this post, such as it is.
But it would be unfair to blame Little Proclaims entirely for my absence from the blogosphere. She has played her part, no doubt, but is not really any more demanding that she ever was. It’s just that I previously used to share the load with Mrs Proclaims, and she has been a little less available of late. Mainly because she has been spending a fair bit of time with our other daughter.
Our other daughter is the adorable Littler Proclaims, who arrived in early April and has charmed us non-stop ever since. Being a parent of one delightful daughter was never less than time-consuming. Being a parent of two seems to be an acknowledgement that anything that might once have constituted ‘me time’ is now reduced to a tiny window when I am still conscious and neither of my children are. And currently that appears to be roughly twenty minutes of an evening. Which means I haven’t had much time to blog.
But Mrs Proclaims and I are working on finding a better balance as we get used to our new reality. I don’t really want to have to rely on Little Proclaims being unwell to churn out these prosaic posts. That would probably make me quite a bad dad, but, because she usually has the constitution of an ox, it would also be a strategy doomed to failure.
In reality I suspect I will post a little less often than I would like, but hopefully a little more often than I have managed in recent months.
And I will no doubt write more about Littler Proclaims, who seems, already, to be calmer and more serene than her energetic sibling. She also has a fantastic head of hair for an almost-three-month old, which draws acclaim wherever she goes.
It is, however, entirely conceivable, that my next post will be a badly written poem about socks.
For much of 2022 I have been absent from this blog. This has predominantly been due to the fact that I became a dad for the second time in April and I have spent most of this year feeling pretty tired. It turns out that having two children is a bit more work than having just the one. Ironically though, having two children has also given me much more to blog about. And quite a lot has happened in the world in 2023 which also seems blogworthy. So it is a tad frustrating that I haven’
For much of 2022 I have been absent from this blog. This has predominantly been due to the fact that I became a dad for the second time in April and I have spent most of this year feeling pretty tired. It turns out that having two children is a bit more work than having just the one. Ironically though, having two children has also given me much more to blog about. And quite a lot has happened in the world in 2023 which also seems blogworthy. So it is a tad frustrating that I haven’t written a word about any of it but I have, for the most part, genuinely been too busy being a dad (and doing other boring stuff like earning a living) to take advantage of the plethora of blog fodder that has been out there.
It may seem strange then, that I’m about to return to the blogosphere for the first 24 days of December, to produce what is undeniably the least popular thing that I do on these pages, which is my annual festive countdown of movies that are not really Christmas films but are arguably a bit Christmas(ish).
However, this anomaly in my blogging abstention can be attributed to the fact that, so committed was I to producing this annual folly after my first foray in 2017, that I started writing the posts quite far in advance of December for subsequent years. And indeed, I got so carried away that I’d completed this year’s list long before taking my recent extended paternity leave. In actual fact, I’ve written most of the posts for December 2023 too, so irrespective of whether I actually manage to return to some kind of regular and coherent blogging schedule in the New Year, I will continue to produce posts about movies with a tenuous link to Christmas every December.
I am not really sure why I do this.
However, in the unlikely event that you are someone who enjoys reading badly written reviews of movies that are a little bit Christmas(ish), then prior to the unveiling of this year’s collection, you can revisit all of the previous entries in my Christmas(ish) catalogue below:
2010’s The Kings Speech picked up its fair share of awards, not least Best Picture and Best Actor in a Leading Role at the 2011 Academy awards. So it’s reasonable to say that it’s a pretty good movie. Indeed any movie that can boast Michael Gambon, Guy Pearce, Dereck Jacobi, Jennifer Ehle and Timothy Spall in relatively minor roles, (minor in the sense of screen time, as they mostly are playing personages of historical significance) is certainly aiming to be a cut abov
2010’s The Kings Speech picked up its fair share of awards, not least Best Picture and Best Actor in a Leading Role at the 2011 Academy awards. So it’s reasonable to say that it’s a pretty good movie. Indeed any movie that can boast Michael Gambon, Guy Pearce, Dereck Jacobi, Jennifer Ehle and Timothy Spall in relatively minor roles, (minor in the sense of screen time, as they mostly are playing personages of historical significance) is certainly aiming to be a cut above the rest.
Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush and Helena Bonham Carter are the main attractions though and they all bring their ‘A’ game to the party. Indeed, so good is Firth that it seems incredible that he was third choice for the role.
Whether The Kings Speech is an entirely accurate portrayal of historical events is certainly debateable, but even the best biopics rarely are, and it would be churlish to hold the obvious use of creative license against a movie, which succeeds so well at all the principal facets of being a movie.
Score for Christmasishness
The title of the movie has a double meaning, being both a reference to King George VI’s speech impediment and also a specific speech that he makes. And while the main speech is definitely related to the outbreak of World War II, one of his other duties, as monarch, would be to make a Christmas Day speech. Because that is a thing that happens in the UK. We don’t ever witness George VI making a Christmas Day speech, but we do see his dad, one George V, do exactly that at around 30 minutes into the running time. Beyond that, there isn’t much to recommend The King’s Speech as a Christmas movie, except the title, which could have been referring to the annual Christmas Day speech, and shouldn’t be ignored just because it isn’t.
2019’s ‘live action’ update of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp doesn’t have any offensive racial caricatures masquerading as cats, which is a notable improvement, but otherwise it’s generally inferior to the original. That is pretty much the case with all the Disney ‘live action’ remakes. So failing to live up to the original animated classic may be an unfair stick with which to beat this movie. Calling it ‘live action’ is also a s
2019’s ‘live action’ update of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp doesn’t have any offensive racial caricatures masquerading as cats, which is a notable improvement, but otherwise it’s generally inferior to the original. That is pretty much the case with all the Disney ‘live action’ remakes. So failing to live up to the original animated classic may be an unfair stick with which to beat this movie. Calling it ‘live action’ is also a stretch, unless Disney have somehow found a way to breed talking dogs. Which I wouldn’t necessarily put past them.
If you can manage not to compare it to the original, it is still fairly entertaining. And worth watching for the brief appearance of Ken Jeong as a sarcastic doctor, which genuinely made me laugh out loud.
Score for Christmasishness
As with the original, it is bookended by two Christmases and, as with the original, one of the titular characters is a Christmas present. So, while it is not as good as the orginal, it is certainly as Christmas(ish).
1996’s 101 Dalmatians is technically the second ‘live action’ remake of an earlier animated feature if you consider 1994’s The Jungle Book to be the original. Although that movie bears very little resemblance to the 1967 cartoon classic and Disney did do another live action version of The Jungle Book in 2016 that is far more of a remake of the animated original. Given the innate similarities between the 1996 incarnation of 101 Dalmatians and the 1961 original, you
1996’s 101 Dalmatians is technically the second ‘live action’ remake of an earlier animated feature if you consider 1994’s The Jungle Book to be the original. Although that movie bears very little resemblance to the 1967 cartoon classic and Disney did do another live action version of The Jungle Book in 2016 that is far more of a remake of the animated original. Given the innate similarities between the 1996 incarnation of 101 Dalmatians and the 1961 original, you could make a compelling case that it is this movie and not The Jungle Book that triggered the slew of pointless ‘live action’ remakes of beloved animated features that has gathered pace in recent years.
And in comparison to the original, the 1996 movie comes up short in every respect. Glenn Close is by far the best thing about the movie and she does a pretty amazing job at recreating one of Disney’s most iconic villains. But as good as her version of Cruella de Vil might be, she still can’t quite live up to the brilliance of the original.
Also, it does seem, at one point, to turn into a kind of Home Alone ripoff but with animals (mainly dogs but other creatures join in the ‘fun’ including, bizarrely, a skunk and some raccoons, which is remarkable because neither species is indigenous to the UK, where the movie is purported to be set), which doesn’t do anyone any credit at all.
It’s harmless enough entertainment. But entirely pointless.
Score for Christmasishness
The original animated classic did finish on a Christmassy note, so I assumed this one would. But it doesn’t. So there are no references to Christmas at all and I shouldn’t have included it. But it does follow the animated movie to a point and it’s clearly set at the same time of year, with lots of snow in sight, so I’m going to assume it did finish at Christmas, even if there is no explicit confirmation on screen.
Orson Welles’ 1941 masterpiece Citizen Kane is oft described as the greatest movie ever made. I can only assume that the people making that claim have never seen Star Wars but I will concede, that even without a lightsaber in sight for the near 2-hour running time, Citizen Kane is a remarkable achievement.
I’m hardly an expert on the movies of the era, but it’s easy to believe the Citizen Kane must have been ground-breaking on several fronts. It’s still pretty
Orson Welles’ 1941 masterpiece Citizen Kane is oft described as the greatest movie ever made. I can only assume that the people making that claim have never seen Star Wars but I will concede, that even without a lightsaber in sight for the near 2-hour running time, Citizen Kane is a remarkable achievement.
I’m hardly an expert on the movies of the era, but it’s easy to believe the Citizen Kane must have been ground-breaking on several fronts. It’s still pretty unconventional by modern standards. As impressive as his work behind the cameras undoubtedly is, Welles is also magnetic on screen and is convincing as the eponymous Kane at every stage of his life (except as a child because clearly that was a different actor).
Obviously I’d still rather sit through Star Wars but, as well as being a technical tour de force, Citizen Kane remains surprisingly entertaining for a movie that is so acclaimed.
Score for Christmasishness
Not at all a Christmas movie, but it is quite possible that the scenes featuring Kane’s childhood are set at Christmas because it’s snowing and then it is actually Christmas in the following scene, although conceivably that scene could have been set at a different time, so the snow scenes may have nothing to do with Christmas. Two Christmases are juxtaposed to highlight Kane’s development from childhood to young adulthood and the beginnings of his media empire. And there is a party scene later on which probably isn’t set at Christmas but possibly might be. Really though, the Christmasishness of the movie hinges on whether those childhood scenes of him sledging are set at Christmas. I’m not really convinced that they are so the film isn’t really very Christmas(ish) at all. But Christmas is referenced at least twice, and there is definitely a Christmas tree on screen at one point, albeit briefly, so it’s not the movie with the most tenuous link to Christmas that I’ve ever included in my annual countdown.
Despite the fact that Arthurian legend seems to be the perfect source material for a Hollywood epic, there really aren’t too many King Arthur movies that spring to mind. At least not good ones. And much as I love Monty Python and The Holy Grail, it is a damning indictment of the general failure to bring the Knights of the Round Table to the silver screen, that that is quite possibly the best.
Given the relative lack of competition, Disney’s 1963 offering The Sword in the
Despite the fact that Arthurian legend seems to be the perfect source material for a Hollywood epic, there really aren’t too many King Arthur movies that spring to mind. At least not good ones. And much as I love Monty Python and The Holy Grail, it is a damning indictment of the general failure to bring the Knights of the Round Table to the silver screen, that that is quite possibly the best.
Given the relative lack of competition, Disney’s 1963 offering The Sword in the Stone is certainly not the worst cinematic interpretation of the Arthurian myth, albeit it really has very little to do with the legends most people are familiar with, focussing predominantly on the adventures of a young Arthur before he became King. And, given his accent in the movie, before he became British.
The pulling of the sword from the stone is really the final act of a movie that is mostly about Arthur being turned into animals by Merlin, for reasons that aren’t especially clear. He does needlessly break the heart of a squirrel though, in a bizarrely cruel section of the film.
I think I quite liked this film as a child, but as an adult I find it hard to find to the same level of enjoyment. It’s not one of Disney’s best efforts, though it remains difficult to think of too many King Arthur movies that are superior.
Score for Christmasishness
The Christmas credentials kick in around the last ten minutes of the movie, when we can quite clearly see some of the characters enjoying a Christmas meal. The actual pulling of the sword from the stone also takes place on New Year’s Day. In London, rather than Camelot. I’m not sure how well Arthurian Legend ties in with the introduction of Christianity to the British Isles, but The Sword in the Stone isn’t really meant to be an accurate historical depiction of anything. Although one imagines if King Arthur did exist and he didn’t celebrate Christmas, he may well still have enjoyed a winter festival of some description. Probably not in London though.
Of all the movies in the Rocky franchise, Rocky III is probably my third favourite. It’s hard to beat the original Rocky which is just a great film, while it’s also impossible to ignore the iconic status of Rocky IV, objectively bad though it may be. Rocky III definitely paves the way for the bombastic nonsense of its immediate successor, but it does, just about, retain some semblance of the more grounded approach of the first two movies.
Ultimately it is the silliness whi
Of all the movies in the Rocky franchise, Rocky III is probably my third favourite. It’s hard to beat the original Rockywhich is just a great film, while it’s also impossible to ignore the iconic status of Rocky IV, objectively bad though it may be. Rocky III definitely paves the way for the bombastic nonsense of its immediate successor, but it does, just about, retain some semblance of the more grounded approach of the first two movies.
Ultimately it is the silliness which probably endears it to me the most though. The wrestling match between Thunderlips (played with unashamed glee by Hulk Hogan) and Rocky is, depending on your point of view, either a highlight or the first signs that the franchise has begun to lose its way and frankly either viewpoint has merit.
The music too, is a strength of Mr Balboa’s third outing – Eye of the Tiger is probably synonymous with the whole franchise, but, as far as I’m aware, it only actually features on the soundtrack of Rocky III.
Ultimately though, the main reason that Rocky III will always have a place in my heart is that it introduced the world to the incomparable Mr T. He may not be the greatest actor in the world, but it’s hard to deny that he owns every scene he’s in and pretty much steals the movie. It is quite probable that, without this film, we would never have had The A-Team and my childhood would have been the poorer for it.
While it doesn’t quite enjoy the critical acclaim of some of the other movies in the franchise, or the unadulterated madness of the fourth Rocky film, Rocky III is easily one of the most enjoyable and I pity the fool that disagrees.
Score for Christmasishness
This is the fourth Rocky movie to make the cut for my annual festive countdown and its by far the most tenuous. But there is a brief scene, about five minutes in, that shows Rocky and his family celebrating Christmas as part of a montage which is meant to depict him enjoying the high life and losing the metaphorical ‘eye of the tiger’. Blink and you’ll miss it, but it is there and it looks like everyone is having a lovely time. Also right at the end of the movie, as Apollo is about to take on Rocky for the infamous ‘closed doors’ fight, we see a poster behind Apollo’s head advertising a fight which either took place or is due to take place on December 16th. Which is not to say that it is December 16th at any point during the story, but when the Christmasishness is as dubious as this, I’ll take any supporting evidence I can find.
2013’s About Time has all the hallmarks of a Richard Curtis film, and that is almost certainly because it is a Richard Curtis film. Which is both a good thing and a bad thing in equal measure.
Curtis can be relied upon to inject his movies with plenty of humour and there is no doubt that there are moments that are genuinely laugh out loud. However all of things that I don’t like about Curtis’ movies are also there in abundance, notably the massively overprivileged c
2013’s About Time has all the hallmarks of a Richard Curtis film, and that is almost certainly because it is a Richard Curtis film. Which is both a good thing and a bad thing in equal measure.
Curtis can be relied upon to inject his movies with plenty of humour and there is no doubt that there are moments that are genuinely laugh out loud. However all of things that I don’t like about Curtis’ movies are also there in abundance, notably the massively overprivileged characters who don’t seem to have the slightest idea how privileged they are. Also it’s more than a tad oversentimental. And, as is so often the case with Curtis, there is an unbelievably stupid character in the mix, who isn’t especially funny.
Notionally about time-travel, but clumsily so, it’s really as much about the notion of happiness as anything else and even there it’s neither subtle nor indeed especially enlightening – frankly if the charmed lives of the characters don’t result in happiness then there really isn’t much hope for the rest of us.
Domhnall Gleeson and Rachel McAdams are perfectly charming and make the most of lead characters that could run the risk of being insipid in lesser hands. Bill Nighy does what Bill Nighy tends to do quite well, though barely seems to have to try. The real plaudits should go to Tom Hollander though. Saddled with another Curtis trope of an exceptionally rude character, who, bizarrely, everyone seems to tolerate, Hollander not only succeeds in making him plausible, he pretty much steals every scene he’s in.
Perhaps ironically (perhaps not) About Time is about 30 minutes too long. There’s a good film hiding in there somewhere, but it’s hiding pretty well.
Score for Christmasishness
The main character discovers his ability to time travel on New Year’s Day and his first act is to travel back to the preceding New Year’s Eve party, a party that we revisit a couple more times during the movie. There is also a brief Christmas scene at the end of the movie. The party, in particular, is a recurring motif and so we see Christmas decorations sporadically throughout the movie. About Time is therefore more than Christmas(ish) enough to earn its place in my annual countdown.
2018’s biopic of Dick Cheney, Vice, is an interesting movie. I’m not sure if it’s a good movie, although it undeniably has some incredible performances from the actors and possibly the most talented hair and make up team in the world. You can still recognize Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Sam Rockwell and Steve Carell, but they do look alarmingly like the real-life people they are playing and this is all the more impressive given that the timeline of the movie covers a peri
2018’s biopic of Dick Cheney, Vice, is an interesting movie. I’m not sure if it’s a good movie, although it undeniably has some incredible performances from the actors and possibly the most talented hair and make up team in the world. You can still recognize Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Sam Rockwell and Steve Carell, but they do look alarmingly like the real-life people they are playing and this is all the more impressive given that the timeline of the movie covers a period of slightly over 40 years so we see them playing the same characters at different points in their lives.
Vice is hardly a flattering portrayal of Cheney and the Bush administration but it really isn’t covering any new ground especially. What is more interesting is the way in which the story dispenses with a lot of narrative conventions and frequently breaks the fourth wall, but writer/director Adam McKay has already used this bag of tricks in The Big Short and what was innovative in that movie, is less so in Vice on the basis that we’ve seen it before.
Ultimately I think Vice succeeds more than it fails, but it is very much a mixed bag. There is a very funny mid-credit scene in which the movie accuses itself and rebuts accusations of liberal bias.
Score for Christmasishness
There is only one scene that really qualifies this as a Christmas(ish) movie, which occurs about 40 minutes in and lasts for around 3 minutes. But it is a Christmas party in the White House and it does serve quite a significant narrative function. And it does look very Christmassy. Also, shortly before that, we see very brief footage of Mr T on TV with a Christmas tree in the background. Mr T’s only function is to let us know that it is the 1980s at that point in the movie, which you kind of already know because it’s explicitly mentioned elsewhere. But it’s in the mix so it counts.
1944’s The Curse of the Cat People is notionally a sequel to the 1942 horror movie Cat People. And it does help to have seen the first movie, to fully appreciate this one, but they are quite different, although equally bonkers.
Cat People should really have been called Cat Person, given that the central character, Irena, is the only character who is afflicted by the issue of sometimes being a cat. And of having everyone think she is mad. Including the least ethical psychiatrist
1944’s The Curse of the Cat People is notionally a sequel to the 1942 horror movie Cat People. And it does help to have seen the first movie, to fully appreciate this one, but they are quite different, although equally bonkers.
Cat People should really have been called Cat Person, given that the central character, Irena, is the only character who is afflicted by the issue of sometimes being a cat. And of having everyone think she is mad. Including the least ethical psychiatrist in the world, who very much gets his comeuppance, and the worst husband in the world, who very much doesn’t. Indeed even though he is quite clearly unfaithful to his troubled spouse, with his colleague, Alice, he seems to somehow walk away from the whole thing unscathed with his new love, while Irena meets a most unfortunate end.
In The Curse of the Cat People, the aforementioned husband, Oliver, and Alice are now happily married and have a child. Oliver appears to have added being the worst father in the world to his skillset, and his daughter, Amy, makes friends with the ghost of his dead first wife, who is no longer afflicted by sometimes being a cat, now that she is dead. Amy also makes friends with a mad old woman, who thinks her own daughter is dead, even though she isn’t dead and still lives with her.
It’s all pretty weird but quite a lot better than it sounds. Although it really has nothing to do with cats at all.
Score for Christmasishness
The second half of the movie is set at Christmas, complete with tree, snow and carol singers. And it’s pertinent to the narrative. I think. To be honest the plot didn’t make much sense, but, insofar as I understood it, Christmas did seem quite important. So it’s fairly Christmas(ish) if not exactly full of cheer. Plenty of dysfunctional families though, which seems quite appropriate at Christmas…
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