At the library coffee morning we had a quiz which most of us found difficult and I only got nine out of thirty two. Here are a few questions, Xmas theme and the past year, answers at the end.
Which country won the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest?
Which two countries hosted the Women’s Football World Cup this year?
Which World Famous film and entertainment company celebrated it’s 100th birthday in 2023?
In the natural world where would you find frankincense and myrrh?
Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ was written in which century?
In the movie Elf, what is the first rule of ‘The Code of Elves’?
Another completely different piece of Christmas Music to liven things up while you ponder the answers.
ANSWERS
Sweden won Eurovision.
Australia and New Zealand hosted the football.
It was Disney’s 100th birthday.
Frankincense and myrrh come from tree resin.
A Christmas Carol was published in 1843, the nineteenth century.
Treat every day like Christmas is the first rule for elves.
How many did you get right? I chose the easiest ones…
I spotted him on Facebook. He had the same surname, my maiden name, an unusual name that I never come across outside my family. Was this Brian standing on a mountain top a relative? He was gazing across a rolling green landscape. His words with the picture were ‘Fantastic trail and so therapeutic.’
I followed the link to a national park in New Zealand, well he could still be a relative. On a whim I posted a comment.
‘Fantastic scenery. I wonder if we could be related, I have the same surname.’
Then I realised he was probably asleep, night time in New Zealand. I pondered which Facebook friends we could have in common, how else would I be seeing his post?
The next morning there was a brief reply to my comment.
‘Could well be, I came out here years ago.’
I was soon on the phone to Mum, she kept tabs on Dad’s relatives better than he had done.
‘Brian, Brian…hmmm your Dad’s cousin Sheila had a Brian who went out to New Zealand. I always used to send him a Christmas card, only ever got one back. Dad wondered why I bothered. I guess I did it for Sheila’s sake, her only son. He didn’t get over for her funeral; sent an ambiguous letter, not sure if it was health or money, but it is a long way. I never actually met him, not sure how old.’
I was curious. ‘Do you still have his address, I mean he probably moved around and never got your cards. But I could send him a Christmas card, from all the comments sounds like he’s been having a hard time.’
‘Bring your pill round tomorrow and show me, might not even be our Brian.’
‘You mean my tablet?’
‘Yes that screen thingy you’re always playing with.’
Mum and I checked him out, certainly seemed to be the real Brian. He had led an adventurous life, looking at some of his posts and he sounded an interesting chap.
I sent him a card, there was still time to post airmail across the world. That seemed less intrusive than trying to contact him on Messenger. Without thinking I put one of my charity address stickers on the back of the envelope.
Yesterday I had just returned from walking the dog in the rain, wet hair plastered on my face, muddy jeans and socks left by the back door, when I heard the doorbell. I was about to dart through the hall and dash upstairs to get showered and ready for my afternoon shift. I was not expecting anyone, perhaps John had ordered something from Amazon. I put my dressing gown on and went back downstairs to check if a parcel had been left.
I didn’t recognise him at first, drenched and with a shabby rain soaked bag at his side.
‘Surprise, surprise, thanks for your card, you don’t know how good it was to hear from someone at home.’
John wasn’t too pleased to come home late that evening and find we had a guest in the spare room, a guest wearing his dressing gown. Turns out he is not as interesting as his Facebook persona and apparently has far worse problems than his posts implied. Almost two weeks till Christmas and we don’t know what his plans are, but they include Christmas with ‘his family.’
Do you ever wonder what really is real life. Assuming that we are real and not a computer dreaming, have we attained the human condition we should all aspire to if we live in peace, well fed with time to indulge in the arts and creativity? Or is real life a daily battle against the elements to grow enough food to survive, pitting your wits and using your strength to hunt and kill enough to feed your family. Even worse, is real life facing death at any moment as you are attacked and invaded and must defend yourself and your people?
Maybe our earliest ancestors led a peaceful life, with a human population so small nobody needed to fight over land. Life was in tune with nature and the seasons, social life was chatting about the mammoth hunt and telling tales around the fire as you ate mammoth steaks.
If you are bored living in the comfort zone you can leave it to trek to one of the poles or up Mount Everest. The bravest people are those who leave their own countries and take their medical and other skills to war zones. If they manage to return home safely how mundane must our ordinary lives seem.
If Aunty Joan complains she has to wait for her hospital appointment perhaps the adventurer will suggest she is lucky her hospital has not been destroyed by a missile attack. If the nephew complains he could not get his favourite cereal at the supermarket, they might point out he is lucky to have food at all. If the adventurer’s sister tells him her anxiety has been bad he might point out they don’t have time for anxiety in the Gaza Strip or Ukraine.
You don’t have to leave your own country or even your own home to be plunged out of your comfort zone. If you work for the emergency services you will certainly see real life. For ordinary members of the public storms, flash floods and wild fires can mean destruction of their home and security as well as all their possessions.
Some of our chat at home or over coffee with friends will be about the awful state of the world and local dramas on the news, but most of us still enjoy gossip about work and our neighbourhood that would mean nothing to anyone outside our little circles. Any trip to the shops or day out becomes a dramatic story.
In the comfort zone
It was so windy last night all the food bins were in the middle of the road.
My patio chairs blew onto the lawn!
I saw Kate on the bus on Tuesday.
Oh how is she?
Fine, got her appointment at last.
I thought I was never going to get here, the puddles, I tried to dodge them but still got my shoes wet.
Next door have got a leak…
That white car has been parked outside my house for three days now…
Have you started watching that new series?
Was that the bloke that was in that other series?
No, you’re thinking of that other chap who was on Strictly…
Are we hiding away from real life or keeping civilisation alive?
Have you ventured outside the comfort zone or suddenly found yourself in the danger zone?
It’s that time in December when you think it’s ages till Christmas, but when you turn up to your club or group, everyone except you has brought Christmas cards…
That’s Christmas dinner sorted. When you are so glad to be a CoOp member so you get emails with fantastic recipe ideas! Please note this is green Southern CoOp, not blue CoOp up the road, who probably wouldn’t want to be connected with such culinary crimes!
When you can only find four Christmas decorations.
When you wonder who opened day 8 on your advent calendar.
But a tiny harbourside seaside town would surely only expect to have one or two murders in a decade?
I agree, in fact the tiny seaside town where we film has had no real murders in the past decade.
Precisely.
But that’s because they have had no crime at all since we started filming; the locals are paranoid they might be accidentally filmed dropping litter or parking on a double yellow line, let alone burglary or murder.
I may be going out on a limb here, but how about for the next series we don’t have any murders?
What would we have for a story line? How would we compete with Scandi Noir and cold cases in hot Australian country towns?
Gentle stories about real life, fishing trips and trips to the food bank, battles to keep the village school open.
That sounds boring, viewers expect some deaths.
I have a brainwave. Deaths that appear to be murder, but turn out to be natural causes. Woman found poisoned, new police constable notes her flat is filled with plants and recalls how his aunt always uses fresh water for her tea and waters her plants with the old water in the kettle. He ponders what if one or more of the plants is poisonous, the kettle touches the leaves and the poison is transferred to her tea, perhaps gradual build up. CID take no notice of him and this is where the drama comes in. He has to go out on a limb, photographing every plant, Googling them…
They, could be a female officer.
Okay, they, even though its only one officer…they get in touch with Kew Gardens and persuade them to send an expert who discovers a rare South American jungle plant next to the television set.
Or in the bathroom, it would like steamy conditions. But is that going to take six episodes?
Rich old lady found at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck, who pushed her? My mother says most accidents on stairs are caused by remembering you have forgotten something and turning suddenly, half way up or down.
Hm, at least that’s quite violent.
Young farmer found with throat slashed in the barn; turns out he tripped over a free range hen and in a freak accident the abattoir knife they use to dispatch the outdoor reared pigs for their farm shop, slashes his throat. No cctv, everyone is blamed and the family torn apart, before a clever pathologist on holiday proves the truth.
Which was difficult because the pigs had already half eaten him…
No, No we don’t want too much gore.
Sorry, sorry, this is not going to work, especially as the BBC wants to axe us, production costs too high.
We can’t stop, it would ruin lives. Half the cast have bought holiday homes, or moved there permanently, got pigs and chickens and boats. And the locals would be devastated, they depend on our six months filming for business.
Hang on, I thought we had ruined their lives, causing property prices to rocket with everyone wanting to live there or have holiday homes. No chance for the young locals.
That’s why we pay the mortgages and rent for half the villagers, we need them as realistic extras.
No wonder production costs are so high, but it would cause an outcry. The public are looking forward to series eleven and the 2024 Christmas Special. We need to think of a really good plot, spy submarine in the harbour sinks a fishing boat with three generations on board…
It is only a tiny harbour… but perhaps further out at sea and then the submarine fires torpedoes at the lifeboat… yes, I think we can do it.
And for today’s cheerful tune, wouldn’t all writers like to write this fast?
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 