Driven demented by the season of hard sell
The terrible truth about this column is it is being dragged out of my innards on a chilly December evening when the last thing I want to do is write even a single word.
I know in my heart and soul it’s the season of peace and goodwill to all, irrespective of age, race, pigmentation, or any of the astonishing range of genders that are perfectly respected and respectable in this modernised republic now. But, my stocks of genuine peace and goodwill are long exhausted, due to retailing and commercial forces on every side launching the Christmas selling season earlier than ever before.
Do any of you gentle readers find yourselves in the same plight ? I would be very surprised if a significant percentage amongst you are not nodding your heads in silent agreement this minute. Of course, if I am not in the humour for writing even a single word, it is quite possible that ye don’t feel like reading my verbal tripe either.maybe there is only a small handful of us here today?
The others who normally join us are probably broke after the hottest spending spree since the pit of the economic recession.
Or they are out with bulging shopping bags chasing alleged Black Friday bargains which advertising voices on the airwaves tell them are still up for grabs, if they move fast enough. And those voices invariably state smoothly the hackneyed sentence, “...and when they’re gone, they are definitely gone!”.
How many thousand times have we heard that pitc hin this spending spree?
It must work on us consumers like a magic wand, otherwise the marketeers would not all be deploying it every selling minute and second across their campaigns. Amazing stuff altogether. As I confessed above, my peace and goodwill towards all mankind are exhausted. My jaws are sore from smiling at everybody I meet on the shopping circuits of my hinterland by the Shannon.
It is quite difficult to keep a bright smile pasted on your visage for every outing since the sales pitches began last October. I am a senior citizen now, and one’s jaws are not as mobile as they once might have been. But it is a very pure truth, proving my point that my three-year-old little dog, Pepper, my constant companion on the streets, is whimpering every night, because her tail is aching from hours of friendly wagging at every passer-by wishing us peace and goodwill on the streets. I must also confess openly here and now, holding nothing back at all, that I might be experiencing the early stages of age-related dementia. You see, I imagine I can hear extremely compelling voices, speaking for motor dealers across the nation, saying that if I move fast and buy their span-new car at once, they will not alone give me three times the tradein value of my aged banger, but they will also give me a new car in a couple of months time, free of charge altogether, years of free services for both vehicles, and every guarantee under the moon and stars. But I have to move very fast indeed, say these salesmen on the airwaves of my clearly afflicted imagination because, yes, once these free new cars are gone, they are definitely gone.
A stranger wishing me the warmest of peace and goodwill this week suggested the motor car makers are pushing harder than ever before this Christmas, because the global warming scare could see all conventional petrol and diesel vehicles banned completely. Then, he said, we will all either have to get back up on bicycles again, or buy some class of hybrid or electric car which, he claimed, costs next to nothing to run by comparison with those cars we once got our “L” plates for.
He was a nice man, that I had the conversation with, but I fear he might also be afflicted a bit by the early dementia malady I fear myself.
This fear was reinforced in my addled head when I asked him where was the nearest charging point for my electric car, if I purchased one soon, and he said it was about 30 miles of bad road away. But, soon there would be one or two of them in every town and village surviving the drift towards the old Pale. Incidentally, whilst we were discussing global warming, there was such a biting winter wind, and it was absolutely freezing, that poor little Pepper was whimpering around our ankles, exhausted tail again between her legs. I think I’ll pay a rare visit to a doctor before the week is out, to check if indeed I am losing the last of my mental marbles. I’ll almost certainly get confirmation of my fears on that front.
Finally, I have just enough of my peace and goodwill towards all mankind left somewhere to wish peace to the half-dozen or so of you who are still hereabouts.
If ye are still here, incidentally, maybe you should consider going to see your GP too, ASAP, because I imagine I heard voices on the airwaves earlier this week saying, effectively, that GPS might be going on some class of a strike over something or other, before the year is out.
Can’t remember what the issue involved was. That’s happening to me too often lately...
Not too many ‘season of peace and goodwill’ smiles here. Maybe, like Cormac, they are addled by the onslaught of commercial messages.