Sometimes it's what a man doesn't write about that gives you his true measure
Every year it seems to get going just that little bit earlier. Every year it feels like the starter's gun cracks a smidge before everyone one is ready, while we are still innocently chatting about the improving weather or how difficult it is to find a reliable plumber - bang, it's all on.
Unfortunately there is no avoiding this. Because just as the child of a large Catholic family knows his chances of getting his rightful share of the one box of coco-pops is remarkably better if he rises at 5.30am, columnists know if they don't start writing about Christmas now the best ideas will be gone well before the trees goes up.
And so come November the inevitable monologues on the highs, lows, trials and tribulations of Christmas begin.
Luckily there are some of us who believe writing about the seasonal holidays is a banal and lazy way to fill their allotted column centimetres.
These types of columnists know it is their job at this time of year to provide a small island of sanity amid the sea of hype and write about things other than the complications surrounding the celebrations of the birth of little baby Jesus.
Admittedly they are few, but they are resolute. Not in their space will you read about their Christmas wish lists, even if in some cases they might be quite reasonable. Say, half a dozen pairs of black socks, two t-shirts and perhaps (despite them having a few decades under their belt) a stocking bulging with unexpectedly colourful trinkets and small treasures.
Neither will you read their warning of the near- certainty you will make a twit of yourself at the staff Christmas party or be preached to by them on to how to avoid such a situation by limiting your alcohol intake to 20 per cent less than everyone else.
The few columnists who do not write about Christmas will almost certainly shy away from explaining how an expensive present for a little Jimmy is pure folly and will not ensure his love. If they did they would be forced into a dreadfully dull tale of how such behaviour only ups the ante for next year so that by the time little Jimmy is 12 he is expecting nothing less than a gift- wrapped three- bedroom suburban bungalow under the tree come Christmas morning. Snore.
And not with a barge pole, 10-foot or otherwise, will some of us poke at the subject of Christmas food.
It's not that we are afraid of discussing how much harder it is to find something special to eat for Christmas now that supermarkets bulge with delicacies all year round. Nor is it that we cower from delving into the moral and ethical dilemma that our celebrations, our annual family get together and rejoicing at another year well spent, are paid for by all manner of animals with their lives.
We are most certainly not worried about offending anyone by writing about how the gluttony of the season would insult the very entity we purport to be honouring. We are much thicker skinned than that.
It's just that it's all a bit blah and self-evident and therefore those thoughts do not deserve any more ink than they have already been given in the last 2000 or so years.
Going over it again would be like someone who had a thing against The Da Vinci Code author Dan Brown and kept taking cheap potshots at his ridiculously silly book whenever he could. It's just petty and his self-supposed cleverness would merely expose the fact he had not sold 80 million copies of a book. Indeed that he did not even have a book to sell.
In just the same manner a smattering of sensible columnists detour around any mention of the New Year.
Because when talking about the New Year you have to first review the old one. This is almost certainly going to be unpleasant as it will lead readers to realise their promotion to Deputy Team Leader is largely meaningless and the petrol vouchers their company gave them for all their hard work are actually in lieu of a raise.
No self-respecting columnist would put anyone through that.
Neither would they try to foist upon a reader their resolutions for the New Year. Quite apart from it being grossly self-indulgent and egotistical to think anyone would care, resolutions are a dangerous drug.
It might feel good at the time but within weeks they are simply a list of your failures.
That is why I would never try to tell you that in 2011 I am going to eat sausage rolls less frequently, do more exercise, be a better friend and refrain from telling extended jokes that aren't even funny in the first place.
To write something like that, at this time of year - unthinkable.
- Taranaki Daily News
Every year it seems to get going just that little bit earlier. Every year it feels like the starter's gun cracks a smidge before everyone one is ready, while we are still innocently chatting about the improving weather or how difficult it is to find a reliable plumber - bang, it's all on.
Unfortunately there is no avoiding this. Because just as the child of a large Catholic family knows his chances of getting his rightful share of the one box of coco-pops is remarkably better if he rises at 5.30am, columnists know if they don't start writing about Christmas now the best ideas will be gone well before the trees goes up.
And so come November the inevitable monologues on the highs, lows, trials and tribulations of Christmas begin.
Luckily there are some of us who believe writing about the seasonal holidays is a banal and lazy way to fill their allotted column centimetres.
These types of columnists know it is their job at this time of year to provide a small island of sanity amid the sea of hype and write about things other than the complications surrounding the celebrations of the birth of little baby Jesus.
Admittedly they are few, but they are resolute. Not in their space will you read about their Christmas wish lists, even if in some cases they might be quite reasonable. Say, half a dozen pairs of black socks, two t-shirts and perhaps (despite them having a few decades under their belt) a stocking bulging with unexpectedly colourful trinkets and small treasures.
Neither will you read their warning of the near- certainty you will make a twit of yourself at the staff Christmas party or be preached to by them on to how to avoid such a situation by limiting your alcohol intake to 20 per cent less than everyone else.
The few columnists who do not write about Christmas will almost certainly shy away from explaining how an expensive present for a little Jimmy is pure folly and will not ensure his love. If they did they would be forced into a dreadfully dull tale of how such behaviour only ups the ante for next year so that by the time little Jimmy is 12 he is expecting nothing less than a gift- wrapped three- bedroom suburban bungalow under the tree come Christmas morning. Snore.
And not with a barge pole, 10-foot or otherwise, will some of us poke at the subject of Christmas food.
It's not that we are afraid of discussing how much harder it is to find something special to eat for Christmas now that supermarkets bulge with delicacies all year round. Nor is it that we cower from delving into the moral and ethical dilemma that our celebrations, our annual family get together and rejoicing at another year well spent, are paid for by all manner of animals with their lives.
We are most certainly not worried about offending anyone by writing about how the gluttony of the season would insult the very entity we purport to be honouring. We are much thicker skinned than that.
It's just that it's all a bit blah and self-evident and therefore those thoughts do not deserve any more ink than they have already been given in the last 2000 or so years.
Going over it again would be like someone who had a thing against The Da Vinci Code author Dan Brown and kept taking cheap potshots at his ridiculously silly book whenever he could. It's just petty and his self-supposed cleverness would merely expose the fact he had not sold 80 million copies of a book. Indeed that he did not even have a book to sell.
In just the same manner a smattering of sensible columnists detour around any mention of the New Year.
Because when talking about the New Year you have to first review the old one. This is almost certainly going to be unpleasant as it will lead readers to realise their promotion to Deputy Team Leader is largely meaningless and the petrol vouchers their company gave them for all their hard work are actually in lieu of a raise.
No self-respecting columnist would put anyone through that.
Neither would they try to foist upon a reader their resolutions for the New Year. Quite apart from it being grossly self-indulgent and egotistical to think anyone would care, resolutions are a dangerous drug.
It might feel good at the time but within weeks they are simply a list of your failures.
That is why I would never try to tell you that in 2011 I am going to eat sausage rolls less frequently, do more exercise, be a better friend and refrain from telling extended jokes that aren't even funny in the first place.
To write something like that, at this time of year - unthinkable.
- Taranaki Daily News
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