Christmas-induced rage

It may be the case that I'm simply still so sleep-deprived that my anger levels are considerably elevated, or it may be that attempting to shop in LocalTown is akin to doing battle with the demon spawn of Hades.

I think it's the latter, though evidence suggests the former is in with a good shout.

I took the opportunity today to make a foray into LocalTown to attempt to purchase some of the things that are just too hard to buy online. I don't do this often, and I've now re-discovered why.

Was it because the electronic signs on the way into town informed me that all the carparks were full? It was not. I parked in my Cunning and Secret Place and therefore only paid £3 instead of the £7.80 it would have cost me had I parked in the carparks that were already full.

Was it because, in addition to all the people doing their Christmas shopping, LocalTown was still swarming with tourists, most of whom only appear to have the loosest grasp of the difference between roads and pavements? It was not. I've lived here for twenty-four years, and tourists are a bit like seagulls - annoying, noisy, and prone to eating all the ice-cream, but generally avoidable.

Was it because, once inside the shops, it was almost impossible to move without being kneecapped by someone's shopping bags, or elbowed in the face by someone reaching for the extra-special gift pack of novelty chocolate-flavoured gin on the highest shelf? It was not. My years of practice with seagulls tourists has ensured I'm good at dodging and weaving.

Was it because I was overwhelmed by the oppressive heat, the incessant, invasive, nerve-jangling music and the psychosis-inducing flashing lights? It was not. Though I confess to retreating to the ladies toilets in John Lewis and finding myself simply staying, sat upon my throne, enjoying the glorious peace and quiet of having a tiny cubicle all to myself.

Was it because I felt horrified by the sheer consumerist excess of people spending and spending and spending, when indubitably many of them probably couldn't really afford to? Yes. Yes, that was part of it, but not all.

Was it because I gazed around the shops and saw stretching before me, as far as the eye could see, acres of products that nobody wants or needs or will ever use, but that someone will buy as a present anyway? Yes. Now we're getting there.

The shops are filled with shiny gew-gaws and flim-flam. Knick-knacks and ornaments. "Amusing" mugs and plates and glasses. Novelty games that entertain no-one. Novelty clothes that suit no-one. Novelty foods that appeal to no-one. Slick, glossy, shiny accessories for the home that will sit, gathering dust at the back of a cupboard, or spend eternity stoically failing to decompose in a land-fill site.

And I hated it. I hated the pointless waste of the finite resources this planet possesses. Yes, Christmas is a lovely time; a time of giving; a time of sharing; a time of family, and of love, and of compassion. But it could be all of those things without raping the earth to give gifts to your friends and family that they don't want or need or like. I don't care what people spend, I don't care how much, or how, or where they spend it. It's not my money. But I do care about the pointless, hopeless, obscene waste of buying stuff for the sake of it.

Maybe I'm just a curmudgeon now. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe it's both those things. If however, you are amongst the small group of people with whom I do exchange presents at Christmas, I beg of you, please don't buy me a sparkly tinsel reindeer that shits chocolate drops. In return I promise not to buy you a tie with a Brussels sprout motif that plays an off-key version of "Jingle Bells". We'll all be happier that way.