All hail the wassail

My home town of Leicester is renowned for its Midwinter Wassail Parade, which has taken place every December 21st since records began. Wassailants come out in their thousands, most of them to loot city centre stores as the police struggle to contain the masses, but some of them also to enjoy the costumes and characters.

Leading the parade every year are three of Leicester's most famous sons, Englebert Humptyback, the hunched, priapic lothario with skin the colour of beef, Lambert Daniels, the jovial fat man in hunting attire, and Elephant Boy, the crippled, jug-eared dwarf with the voice of John Hurt. They demand a cup of wassail from every house they stop at, and are legally allowed to beat the householder with hunks of mouldy Stilton if he or she refuses.

Not being in Leicester this year, and therefore missing out on all the festivities, we decided to host our own wassailing party. As everyone knows, wassail is traditionally made by mixing 15 cans of Strongbow, 2 bottles of cheap Canadian sherry, a cup of brandy, a cloved orange, 10 small apples, some spices and a fuckload of sugar in a giant marmite. After several hours on the hob it is sufficiently dangerous to drink.

Friends of many nationalities - Canadian, Newfoundlandic, Polish, German, Indonesian, Manx, even a Welshman - turned up to partake of the wassail, and all went home full of new-found wisdom. They learnt to retort "Drink hail!" when offered a cup of wassail, they learned that it is impossible to sing along to Christmas Time (Don't Let The Bells End) by the Darkness, and they learnt that too much apple-based goodness makes your brain explode.

They also learned that Kate Rusby's version of 'Here We Go A-Wassailing' is absolutely lovely:

Here we come a-wassailing

Among the leaves so green,

Here we come a-wand'ring

So fairly to be seen.
Here we come a-wand'ring

So fairly to be seen.


Love and joy come to you,

And to you our wassail, too,

And God bless you, and send you

A Happy New Year,

God send you a Happy New Year.



We are not daily beggars

That beg from door to door,

But we're the neighbours' children

That you have seen before.
We're the neighbours' children
That you have seen before.


Love and joy come to you,

And to you our wassail, too,

God bless you, and send you

A Happy New Year,

God send you a Happy New Year.



I have a little purse

It's made of leather skin;

I need a silver sixpence

To line it well within.
I need a silver sixpence

To line it well within.


Love and joy come to you,

And to you our wassail, too,

God bless you, and send you

A Happy New Year,

God send you a Happy New Year.



God bless the master of this house,

And bless the mistress too;

And all the little children

That round the table grew.
And all the little children

That round this table grew.


Love and joy come to you,

And to you our wassail, too,

God bless you, and send you

A Happy New Year,

God send you a Happy New Year.

Here we come a-wassailing

Among the leaves so green,

Here we come a-wand'ring

So fairly to be seen.
Here we come a-wand'ring

So fairly to be seen.


Love and joy come to you,

And to you our wassail, too,

And God bless you, and send you

A Happy New Year,

God send you a Happy New Year.

So until December 21st 2010, all I can say to you is "Wassail!" and hope that we may "Drink hail!" in the Leicester parade again next year.

Pope springs eternal

The current incumbent of the papacy is making two of his predecessors 'venerable', according to BBC News. This means Pius XII and John Paul II will be just two steps away from sainthood.

The next step in the process is proving that they performed a miracle, defined by the OED as 'a marvellous event not ascribable to human power or the operation of any natural force'. The BBC phrases it as 'usually a medical cure with no scientific explanation' and this got me thinking. What happens if the Pope awards a sainthood to someone on the basis of a miracle, only for science to find an explanation later on? Is the sainthood retracted? Has this ever happened to anyone?

Calendar for 2014

June 23rd - Dave's Day
(Formerly St Dave's Day, prior to the discovery that his miraculous removal of a parishioner's ingrown toenail was accomplished using a pair of pliers rather than the love of God.)

Apparently you don't need a miracle to become a saint if you are martyred, which is why December 19th is the Saint's Day of Augustine Moi van Nguyen. Shouldn't Benedict XVI consider getting himself killed trying to convert heathens to Catholicism? At least then he could guarantee himself sanctified without having to worry about battling the logic of medical science.

The Ten Year Tabloid Tracks

In 1989, on her wonderful album Kite, the inimitable Kirsty MacColl wrote Fifteen Minutes:

Seven times in seven days
I've sat and wished my life away.
I know the greyness comes and goes
But the sun don't shine
And the snow don't snow.

There's Suzy-Ann with her tits and curls,
Where mediocrity excels
For those vicious boys and their boring girls.
You know it makes me sick but it's a bozo's world.

Then there's always the cash,
Selling yourself for some trash.
Smiling at people that you cannot stand.
You're in demand,
Your fifteen minutes start now

City banker looks are in.
The heartless heart, the chinless chin,
And you'd spill your beans for just a pint of gin.
How you got so holy
And became so thin.

In Sunday papers every week,
The silly words you love to speak,
The tacky photos and the phoney smiles.
Well it's a bozo's world
And you're a bozo's child.

Then there's always the cash,
Selling yourself for some trash.
Smiling at people that you cannot stand.
You're in demand,
Your fifteen minutes start now.

Then there's always the fame.
Autographs now and again.
People who saw you on Blankety Blank
Or in the bank.
Your fifteen minutes start now.

Then, in 1998, Neil Hannon of the Divine Comedy brilliantly mined a similar seam in Generation Sex:

Generation sex
respects
the rights
of girls
Who want to take their clothes off
As long as we can all watch,
that's o.k.

And generation sex
elects
the type
of guys
You wouldn't leave your kids with
And shouts "off with their heads" if they get laid

Lovers watch their backs
as hacks
in macs
Take snaps
through telephoto lenses
Chase Mercedes Benzes
through the night

A mourning nation weeps
and wails
But keeps
the sales
of evil tabloids healthy
The poor protect the wealthy
in this world

Generation sex
injects
the sperm
of worms
Into the eggs of field mice
So you can look real nice
for the boys

And generation sex
is me
and you
And we
should really all know better
It doesn't really matter what you say

And finally, this year, Lily Allen took on the mantle in The Fear:

I want to be rich and I want lots of money
I don’t care about clever I don’t care about funny
I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds
I heard people die while they’re trying to find them

And I’ll take my clothes off and it will be shameless
Cause everyone knows that’s how you get famous
I’ll look at The Sun and I’ll look in The Mirror
I’m on the right track yeah I’m onto a winner

I don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore
And I don’t know how I’m meant to feel anymore
When do you think it will all become clear?
Cause I’m being taken over by the fear

Life’s about film stars and less about mothers
It’s all about fast cars and cussing each other
But it doesn’t matter cause I’m packing plastic
And that’s what makes my life so fucking fantastic

And I am a weapon of massive consumption
And it’s not my fault it’s how I’m programmed to function
I’ll look at The Sun and I’ll look in The Mirror
I’m on the right track yeah we’re onto a winner

I don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore
And I don’t know how I’m meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear
Cause I’m being taken over by the fear

Forget about guns and forget ammunition
Cause I’m killing them all on my own little mission
Now I’m not a saint but I’m not a sinner
Now everything’s cool as long as I’m getting thinner

I don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore
And I don’t know how I’m meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear
Cause I’m being taken over by the fear.

So an anti-tabloid pop gem is written every decade. What I want to know is, did anyone write one before 1989, and who's going to compose the 2019 version? Answers on a virtual postcard, please.

McCarthy 2, Mendes 0

I've never read Richard Yates' book, but after seeing Sam Mendes' film of Revolutionary Road, I think it will be some time before I do. The book is supposed to be excellent, so I need some time to forget the film, which I didn't enjoy greatly. At the Golden Globes (but not the Oscars) it was nominated for best film, best director, best actor and best actress, with Kate Winslet winning the latter. I therefore expected something pretty good, but, just like Mendes' debut, I found myself watching a clever film about American suburban life that talked a lot but didn't say anything (to rephrase David Byrne). As with American Beauty, Revolutionary Road was packed full of characters it was impossibly hard to care for. It's a pity Adam and Joe no longer make TV shows:

American Beautoy

In complete contrast, I thoroughly enjoyed The Station Agent and The Visitor, both by the far less-lauded writer-director Tom McCarthy. In the former, nothing much happens - a guy acquires an old station agent's depot in his friend's will, moves in and tries to live a normal life in a new town - but all the characters are naturalistic and likeable and the film moves along in an interesting and thoughtful way. People who appear extraordinary often just want to live an ordinary life, it seems.

The Visitor is more ambitious, dealing with US immigration policy and the clash of eastern and western cultures in modern America, but the integrity of McCarthy's approach remains. Every performance is excellent, the story gripping, sad, and never bombastic. Best of all, it has nothing of the earnest worthiness of Mendes' work. Rather than preaching at you, it simply tells a story and leaves you wondering about various aspects of life at its conclusion, which is what good films should do.

Numbers of the Beast

Although the taxi drivers of Birmingham often don't remember a single one, I've always thought street names were a good method for distinguishing roads from each other. Clearly in a large city there's the chance of duplication, but it shouldn't take too much effort to figure out which Huntington Esplanade is the one you want.

Sadly, our friends in North America don't see it this way. Meandering, chaotic towns with named streets belong to backwards places like Europe. In the New World, cities must be planned in regular fashion and all the streets will be numbered. This will stop disease and overcrowding and reduce the risk of places burning to the ground.

A couple of centuries later, and the wisdom of this system is recognized the world over. London is a barely remembered shadow of its former self, and beautifully organized, US-style towns like Milton Keynes are the centres of world industry and happiness.

Salt Lake City, where I spent a couple of days recently, is beautifully planned. There's no need for you to stay in a motel at 616 Polygamy Place because you can stay in a motel at the far more elegant and memorable 616 South 200 East. What with SatNav being so infallible, you can follow the Birmingham taxi driver approach and actually move about without knowing a thing about the town's geography.

So why doesn't the US take this wonderful scheme to the next level and start giving their children numbers rather than names? There are loads of Brads and Britneys in the US, far too many for anyone to remember, but no-one would forget 375 Pitt or 2104 Spears.

Indeed, nouns are such old hat they might as well just go the whole hog and abandon them completely. Who even uses them nowadays anyway? It's numbers, numbers are the future! Just assign any word in any language its own unique number. Tomato could be 73, aeroglisseur could be 709, Гласность could be 1500. Anyone anywhere in the world would be able to learn it and communicate using it. It would be like Esperanto, but better.

3 286 9 44 107
(You heard it here first)

L Ron Hubbard - endorsed by Econo Lodge motels

Ignoring its location directly beneath the I-15 freeway, the EconoLodge motel in downtown Salt Lake City is a pleasant enough place to stay. Arriving unannounced, we paid $60-odd a night for single rooms with a king-sized bed, an en-suite bathroom, wireless internet and breakfast included.

Also included was the obligatory Gideons' Bible, which I had dipped into whilst staying in Motel 6 in Green River. There I learnt (Leviticus 11:19) that bats were amongst the species of birds that should not be eaten, because they are unclean. As bat is one of the most popular Sunday roasts in Britain, this came as a shock, but I was also surprised to discover bats were not mammals. Still, this was the word of God, and He should know the difference between homology and convergence.

However, in EconoLodge there was an extra surprise. The Gideons were deemed insufficient for our spiritual needs and an extra tome was in the bedside drawer. The Way To Happiness, A Common Sense Guide to Better Living, had the EconoLodge logo on its front cover, so at first glance I presumed it to be some kind of new-age hotel self-help book. I am in the USA after all.

Then I wondered if, given my location, it wasn't in fact something Mormon. So I dived in. Oh, it was better than Mormon. It was...

...L. Ron Hubbardological!

The blurb says:

"This may be the first nonreligious moral code based wholly on common sense. It was written by L. Ron Hubbard as an individual work and is not part of any religious doctrine."

Its chapter headings are:

1. Take Care of Yourself
(this includes 1-3. Preserve Your Teeth, although the appropriate preservative is not divulged)

2. Be Temperate
(Don't do drugs, Mm-kay? Drugs are bad, Mm-kay?)

3. Don't Be Promiscuous
(But polygamy is ok in Utah, presumably?)

4. Love and Help Children

5. Honor and Help Your Parents
(whatever Philip Larkin might think)

6. Set A Good Example

7. Seek To Live With The Truth
(but make sure you have a big enough bed)

8. Do Not Murder
(conclusion - "The way to happiness does not include murdering or your friends, your family or yourself being murdered")

9. Don't Do Anything Illegal
(even if these laws were imposed under tyranny, apparently)

10. Support A Government Designed And Run For All The People
(although it is not clear whether all people means all people, including paedophiles, terrorists and other ne'er-do-wells)

11. Do Not Harm A Person of Good Will

12. Safeguard and Improve Your Environment

13. Do Not Steal

14. Be Worthy Of Trust
(so do not award yourself a Ph.D. from a non-accredited institution that you control)

15. Fulfill Your Obligations

16. Be Industrious
(or perhaps be idle, as Bertrand Russell suggested)

17. Be Competent
(or amusingly incompetent)

18. Respect The Religious Beliefs of Others
(unless they are Scientological, of course)

19. Try Not To Do Things To Others That You Would Not Like Them To Do To You
(so I shall never serve anyone broccoli, or make them watch Strictly Come Dancing in the hope that they shall never do it to me)

20. Try To Treat Others As You Would Want Them To Treat You

21. Flourish And Prosper
(or whatever it was them blokes from Star Trek said. Goddamnit, why did Gene Roddenberry's science fiction do better than mine?)

You can acquire your own copy here.

A brief note from the Virginian Motel, Moab at 10pm on Friday October 23rd 2009

A proper rant is in order once I've gathered my thoughts, but I shall say this now. Moab is shit. Extraordinarily, no-one has made such a claim online previously, which just goes to indicate how mollycoddled this mediocre mountain town really is.