Our Christmas stocking sock consisted of some nuts, a Satsuma & some a Terry’s Chocolate money Orange.
+1. And real brazil nuts. In real brazil nut shells. And a real Terry’s Chocolate Orange. Not the new US-style takeover, titchy, hollowed-out, chewy palm-oil sugary fat choco-like ‘satsuma’ thing. Not mine. And it’s not Terry’s. It’s an American fake fatsuma. Not unike that other c***.
Kids and adults these days cry and wail and threaten to call lawyers if they don’t get a stocking filled with the latest iPhone. I was happy with home-made pickled onions. Now even my generation buy themselves endlessly upgraded and replaced hi-tech gifts spoils in order to somehow distract selves from the all-pervasive sense of emptiness in this lonely anti-social-media filled, bubble-bound, polluting alt-reality called modern life.
No. I don’t want another device that is nothing but a bloody electronic window into fake clickbait Celebrity/BMW/Apple/Daily Mail/BrexitTrumpworld that became now became the bigger reality. No. Keep your big fake plastic Chinese slave-labour stocking. I’ll take a REAL conversation, in a REAL grotty pub, with some real cheese, real beer, and real PICKLED ONIONS made by a real person. And then I want to share some melting chocolate money. In front of a real fire. With the RADIO on. The RADIO. With DIALS. with real friends. Standing around a piano. Singing. Falling over drunk. Dancing on our smartphones with clogs on.
Yep. That’ll do.
Regards,
Grumplestiltskin.