19-11-2017, 10:06 PM
1
A Christmas Tale
A tale of Christmas, of joy and laughter, of hope and sadnesses, a tale of last years Christmas from the Rehab Residence, a tale of love and kindness in these difficult times....which I would like to share with you..you might need a tissue......’are you sitting comfortably? Then I will begin’It was Mrs Rehabs idea that we should go to Waitrose and get 2 x 1 litre bottles of gin for £15, but only after we attend either the gay wedding reception of our local hairdresser Blow Dry Burton and his part-time pantomime dame boyfriend or go to one of those horrific “Xmas Fayres”.
Now I don’t know about you, but I usually steer clear of “Fayres”, “Shoppes” or anything with “Olde” in the name, but faced with an afternoon of Shirley Bassey records and fairy cakes, I reluctantly succumbed.
So we get to this “Xmas Fayre” and I’m astonished to be charged £3.50 just to get in. What’s that all about? Since when do you pay for the privilege of buying something? It’s like Asda making you buy a season ticket before you’re allowed to give them all your money.
So I’m £7 down before we even cross the threshold, where things don’t get any better. You might expect that something labelled a “Xmas Fayre” would be selling stuff related to Christmas. You know, decorations, sweets, cakes and booze, that sort of thing. Oh no, not this one.
There were stalls selling batik T-shirts, healing crystals, sandals made out of recycled Guardian newspapers, wind chimes, CDs of whale music, sawdust-flavoured yoghurt and foul-smelling incense. Oh, and you could also buy three jars of pickle for £13.50. Yep, that’s right, £13.50. This wasn’t a “Xmas Fayre”. This was an invasion of pseudo-Hippies selling cack to gullible passers-by when it just happened to be December.
Oh, and there were candles. Lots of candles. Have I missed something? Have the French turned off all the nuclear power stations and half of the population doesn’t have electricity any more? When I were a lad, candles were a necessary evil. You needed them when there were no more shillings for the meter and you needed them when you had to pay a visit to the outside loo.
Then came the prosperity of the Thatcher years and suddenly everyone had central heating and running hot and cold electricity. So why does every shopping centre in the country have one of those stupid candle shops? Where have they come from? Who keeps buying them?
Anyway, we left the “Fayre” within 10 minutes. On the way out I had to be physically restrained from abusing the bearded rip-off merchant on the door who was wearing a Fair Trade jumper made out of old sacks, but who probably owned one of the many 4x4s in the car park.
FROM THERE I was frog-marched to Waitrose, where frantic women were taking two trolleys at a time into the store.( It was all that cheap gin) And we’re talking big trolleys here – a full one would easily be enough to feed an African village for a week.
It appeared that we had to buy bread and milk for the freezer. Four loaves of bread and 16 pints of milk, to be precise. I try to explain that the shops are only shut for 48 hours over Christmas, but I am hit over the head with a bag of pot pourri and poked with a roll of three-metre tinfoil with Anthony Worrall Thompson’s face on it.
The queue for the checkouts is of such a scale that the Salvation Army is serving hot soup to those of us at the back. When we finally get to the front, I notice an old boy wearing beige plastic shoes at the till next door. There he is, surrounded by people toting mountains of food, while he has a small wire basket containing … a tin of sardines and a ball of red string.
He’s in no rush. He spends ages carefully putting his goods in a carrier bag and then pulls the familiar OAP stunt of looking surprised when asked to pay. The search for the purse begins, followed by the careful counting out of coppers, some of them even legal tender. ( We winked at each other) Meanwhile behind him the lengthening queue of Mr and Mrs Balsamic Vinegar slowly seethes.
Anyway the point of this rant is about Christmas fayres, does anyone actually enjoy them? Has anyone actually spent a small fortune on a wooden toy and a jar of hand made mustard and then wondered why, after seeing the made in China sticker on the bottom?
Ps I lied about the tissue.
19-11-2017, 11:04 PM
4
Re: A Christmas Tale
Originally Posted by Rehab44
->
A tale of Christmas, of joy and laughter, of hope and sadnesses, a tale of last years Christmas from the Rehab Residence, a tale of love and kindness in these difficult times....which I would like to share with you..you might need a tissue......’are you sitting comfortably? Then I will begin’ It was Mrs Rehabs idea that we should go to Waitrose and get 2 x 1 litre bottles of gin for £15, but only after we attend either the gay wedding reception of our local hairdresser Blow Dry Burton and his part-time pantomime dame boyfriend or go to one of those horrific “Xmas Fayres”.
Now I don’t know about you, but I usually steer clear of “Fayres”, “Shoppes” or anything with “Olde” in the name, but faced with an afternoon of Shirley Bassey records and fairy cakes, I reluctantly succumbed.
So we get to this “Xmas Fayre” and I’m astonished to be charged £3.50 just to get in. What’s that all about? Since when do you pay for the privilege of buying something? It’s like Asda making you buy a season ticket before you’re allowed to give them all your money.
So I’m £7 down before we even cross the threshold, where things don’t get any better. You might expect that something labelled a “Xmas Fayre” would be selling stuff related to Christmas. You know, decorations, sweets, cakes and booze, that sort of thing. Oh no, not this one.
There were stalls selling batik T-shirts, healing crystals, sandals made out of recycled Guardian newspapers, wind chimes, CDs of whale music, sawdust-flavoured yoghurt and foul-smelling incense. Oh, and you could also buy three jars of pickle for £13.50. Yep, that’s right, £13.50. This wasn’t a “Xmas Fayre”. This was an invasion of pseudo-Hippies selling cack to gullible passers-by when it just happened to be December.
Oh, and there were candles. Lots of candles. Have I missed something? Have the French turned off all the nuclear power stations and half of the population doesn’t have electricity any more? When I were a lad, candles were a necessary evil. You needed them when there were no more shillings for the meter and you needed them when you had to pay a visit to the outside loo.
Then came the prosperity of the Thatcher years and suddenly everyone had central heating and running hot and cold electricity. So why does every shopping centre in the country have one of those stupid candle shops? Where have they come from? Who keeps buying them?
Anyway, we left the “Fayre” within 10 minutes. On the way out I had to be physically restrained from abusing the bearded rip-off merchant on the door who was wearing a Fair Trade jumper made out of old sacks, but who probably owned one of the many 4x4s in the car park.
FROM THERE I was frog-marched to Waitrose, where frantic women were taking two trolleys at a time into the store.( It was all that cheap gin) And we’re talking big trolleys here – a full one would easily be enough to feed an African village for a week.
It appeared that we had to buy bread and milk for the freezer. Four loaves of bread and 16 pints of milk, to be precise. I try to explain that the shops are only shut for 48 hours over Christmas, but I am hit over the head with a bag of pot pourri and poked with a roll of three-metre tinfoil with Anthony Worrall Thompson’s face on it.
The queue for the checkouts is of such a scale that the Salvation Army is serving hot soup to those of us at the back. When we finally get to the front, I notice an old boy wearing beige plastic shoes at the till next door. There he is, surrounded by people toting mountains of food, while he has a small wire basket containing … a tin of sardines and a ball of red string.
He’s in no rush. He spends ages carefully putting his goods in a carrier bag and then pulls the familiar OAP stunt of looking surprised when asked to pay. The search for the purse begins, followed by the careful counting out of coppers, some of them even legal tender. ( We winked at each other) Meanwhile behind him the lengthening queue of Mr and Mrs Balsamic Vinegar slowly seethes.
Anyway the point of this rant is about Christmas fayres, does anyone actually enjoy them? Has anyone actually spent a small fortune on a wooden toy and a jar of hand made mustard and then wondered why, after seeing the made in China sticker on the bottom?
Ps I lied about the tissue.
The last Christmas Fayre I attended was the Christmas market in Manchester several years ago. It was absolutely freezing and my only purchase that evening was one of those lumberjack hats with ear flaps.
19-11-2017, 11:17 PM
5
Re: A Christmas Tale
last year i went for a weekend away, after hours on the coach we all got dropped off at Llandudno Christmas Fair ,I found the road it was on , there was all the take away fast food stalls on the open roadside .But the real Christmas stalls were inside a continuous line of marquees, and Bouncers were on each opening charging to go in !!.I flatly refused to pay on principle, I dont pay to go in any shop and i was not going to start then , so I turned my back on them , their loss not mine .
19-11-2017, 11:20 PM
6
Re: A Christmas Tale
Originally Posted by JBR
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The last Christmas Fayre I attended was the Christmas market in Manchester several years ago. It was absolutely freezing and my only purchase that evening was one of those lumberjack hats with ear flaps.
19-11-2017, 11:22 PM
7
Re: A Christmas Tale
Originally Posted by Eliza
->
last year i went for a weekend away, after hours on the coach we all got dropped off at Llandudno Christmas Fair ,I found the road it was on , there was all the take away fast food stalls on the open roadside .But the real Christmas stalls were inside a continuous line of marquees, and Bouncers were on each opening charging to go in !!. I flatly refused to pay on principle, I dont pay to go in any shop and i was not going to start then , so I turned my back on them , their loss not mine .
19-11-2017, 11:24 PM
8
Re: A Christmas Tale
A couple of weeks ago we visited a Michaelmas Fayre because our daughter was selling her home-made tiffin and chocolates there. It cost us £6.50 each (pensioner’s rate) to get in! Stall holders were complaining because visitors had this much less to spend, what a rip off!|
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