The votes are in, the results have been checked and verified by an independent adjudicator and the winners have been announced.
I'm talking about the Best Christmas Movies of All Time. A big thank you to all of you who commented on this blog, via the radio website, to my actual face and on my Facebook and Myspace pages to tell me what your favourite Christmas film was. I found the overwhelmingly huge response (not least on The Misssives) and some of the results quite surprising, I must say. Thank you all very much.
Am I going to publish the list? Maybe...but I am also going to do better than that. Click here to hear the podcast of the show. The movie part starts about 17 minutes in, but the podcast as a whole includes sessions from bands Frightened Rabbit and Alabama 3, should you want to listen to it in its entirety.
Many thanks to all of you who read the Misssy M Misssives in 2008. Your support makes it all worthwhile. I'll be back in action in 2009. Have a splendidly Merry Christmas and a deliriously Happy New Year.
Here's the list for those who don't have time to listen:
First of all, let’s just put the obvious invested interests aside.
Ok, then now I’ll begin.
Tonight in the cold and wintery, but pleasingly silvery town of Aberdeen there is an event so flippin’ Christmassy that it even Santa Claus himself may have to look at his public image and consider a Madonna-like reinvention.
First, the details for any of my readers living in the Grey Toon who could conceivably liven up their night tonight by coming along..
Venue: The Lemon Tree (newly reopened, better than ever-except the Halcyon Days when I worked there, and still the best venue in Aberdeen)
Date: Tonight, Today, Heute, Este Noche, Th’day, 20th December, Five More Sleeps.
Time: Support acts Amy Sawyers, Eric Euan, The Family Simpson and St Winifred’s School Choir start at 9pm (OK I’m lying about the St Winifred’s School Choir- they aren’t there. Shame, though.)
Lorelei on stage about 11pm.
Now a bit of an incentive- the Lorelei are great, fast, loud, danceable, funny, and have got some extra special Christmas treats up their big sleevies and their Christmas gigs are legendary.This year's set promises to include two bagpipers, party games, a Mariah Carey cover that would make the X Factor judges wet their pants, costume changes and actual Santa.
So if you can make it,do.If you can’t and still want some of their Christmas fairy dust wherever you are in the world then listen to their session on Original 106Fm’s Sunday Showcase from last week, where you can giggle at their frenzied attack on Mariah's “All I want for Christmas is Hugh”. Whoever Hugh is- why’s he so popular, that’s what I want to know?
The Lorelei's last EP, Home is also available on itunes, chums. Much better than a jumper or a pair of socks for Christmas, I'd say.
Don't ever miss a Misssive, subscribe!
Something has happened to me in the last two or three years. I have become scared of going into town at night.
Even last week as I went back to my car at 5pm when it was dark with my Christmas shopping I nearly did a ninja kick to a girl behind me who I was convinced was going to knife me in the head and steal my kids’ Christmas presents. On reflection, the potential assailant was nothing more than a teenage girl wearing one of those fur trimmed hooded armless anoraky things, maybe walking just a little too close behind me, but nevertheless, minding her own chavvy business.
I have become easily startled, and going out and heading up Aberdeen’s main drag for any distance turns me into a quivering old lady.
Boys running past me in the street calling each other the C**T word equals me involuntarily shrieking in bloodcurdling fright.
Someone with a gelled to Hell and back shark fin haircut looking a nanosecond too long at me (probably because I’m looking at them) equals me dialling 999 and having my trembling thumb poised on the send button on my mobile phone lodged in my pocket.
Me having to (I’m starting to get palpitations just thinking about this) take out money from a cash machine WITH SOMEONE BEHIND ME. Someone who clearly is going to draw a blade across my throat and steal my money on the first bleep of the dispenser alarm equals me getting into such a state that I forget my PIN number and get my card swallowed up OR I end up withdrawing my card and going to the next ATM with no-one about and my car keys splayed through the fingers of my free hand like the blades of Edward Scissorhands or Freddy Kruger.
Has town got worse? Or am I just a terrible old wifey?
Actually, I fear that town is no worse than it ever was, I just don’t go out in it as much and have become the sort of woman who might conceivably start quoting the Daily Mail at dinner parties. Without even buying it or reading it.
To prove that the town centre at night-time has always been a borderline insane asylum I will leave you with this horrible story which involves my brother who had borrowed my Dad’s car for the evening. And, I must also say, that this might come as a bit of a shock to my Dad, as I’m not sure my brother ever told him. So two notes in advance of the telling; the first to my Dad and the second to my brother:
1. Dad, in fairness it wasn’t Shug’s fault. He was the victim of his own kind heart. This kind heart is what you should focus on to get you past the trauma of what you’ve just learned.
2. Shug, don’t panic. It’s not THAT story.
So my brother, Shug, is in town and has dropped off some friends at the top of Aberdeen’s main throroughfare, Union Street. As he is about to drive off, a teenage girl runs up to the car and complains that she is lost. She goes on to tell him about how she’s supposed to meeting pals at The Prince of Wales pub but she is new in town and doesn’t know where it is. At this point, both the girl and my brother are at the other end of Union Street than that that boasts The Prince (home of Scotland’s longest bar, fact fans). Union Street is a very, very long street. In fact, I thought it was the longest high street in the UK but Meeester just told me that I have made that up.
“It’s at the other end of the street. Jump in and I’ll give you a lift. I’m driving down there anyway...” he offers.
The lassie gets in and on the way down the road, she and brother chat a little. It turns out she’s over from Northern Ireland and it’s her first time in Aberdeen. She’s been in town for hours ,but has got lost. In fact, it turns out that she’s quite the chatterbox, and once they arrive at the Prince of Wales, she continues to chat incessantly. Ten minutes pass and my brother politely indicates that he needs to get going.
“So, em, here you are. The Prince of Wales. I need to go now, I’m meeting folk in another pub” he says jauntily.
She just looks at him silently.
“Right, out you get...” he says, less jauntily.
She continues to look at him with a slightly glazed look.
Is she pissed? Is she stoned? Has she inadvertently brushed against something and activated her Pause button?
“Right, I’ve taken you here, now get out the car” he says making himself perfectly clear.
She looks at him a little bit longer and then shrugs and gets out.
As my brother drives away he notices that the car smells of urine. The lassie has just sat in his passenger seat and pissed herself.
He rants and raves about this incident to this day.
See? Town..full of nutters. And here’s me out this Saturday night, the Saturday before Christmas. Incident is a certainty.
Didn't manage to do half the stuff on my list. Lightweight!
I’m in the last month of my thirties. I figure I’m not going to get to Number One in the charts or play Wembley, start my own religion, win an Oscar or climb Mount Everest before my fourth decade's up. But since I never really wanted to do any of those things anyway, I’m fine with that.
Here’s a list of thirty things I have done in my thirties to make myself feel wistful yet satisfied:
1. Had a little girl (this one thing has taken up most of my thirties) 2. Reached 10 years of marriage (cue Phil Collins' Against All Odds) 3. Bought a house (OK, it's not paid for yet...) 4. Got a dog (notice I didn't say "trained") 5. Started an online web log (that'll be this one). 6. Traveled to Thailand 7. Broadcast on radio ("wah, wah, films, wah, wah, waffle") 8. Seen the Eiffel Tower ( a piercing shriek echoed throughout the whole of France) 9. Been on an oil rig (or 50) (it's rubbish!) 10. Travelled to Sri Lanka 11. Traveled to India (not to be repeated) 12. Lectured in a college 13. Been on Finnish TV (sadly not Eurovision) 14. Given a speech at a funeral 15. Lectured in a university 16. Got a literary agent 17. Been on Reporting Scotland (with unwashed hair) 18. Been in the Sunday Mail (sadly my gran wasn't alive to see it- she's the only person I know who read the Mail) 19. Become self employed 20. Saw Tom Waits live 21. Flown in a helicopter 22. Been to Paris 23. Been a bridesmaid (the word "maid" is maybe pushing it but I'm not going for "matron". I'm just not) 24. Been ice-swimming in Finland (and then provided hanging hooks for wet duffel coats) 25. Written a book (well, a half) 26. Walked on frozen sea 27. Seen the Taj Mahal (it's aaaright, I suppose) 28. Been published 29. Taken someone to court and won (up ye!) 30. Become an auntie (to my three wee ladies)
I’m fairly happy to have squeezed that all in. What do you think I should aim to do in the next ten? Maybe, you're in your forties and have done something suitably mature that you would recommend for me, or simply want to suggest something completely ridiculous that you think I'd go for. Or maybe you don't think I've done enough so far, and want me to up my game....tell me.
Add your suggestions to my list of things I haven't managed so far, but should seriously consider doing in the next decade. I've started it for you:
There is a great moment in the TV show “Gavin and Stacey” that seems fairly inconsequential at the time but runs throughout the two series. It is when Gavin’s Mum, played by the great Alison Steadman (above), declares herself vegetarian to cover up the fact that she may have not considered the fact that her new in-laws might be vegetarians on their arrival for dinner. They are not, she is not- no one cares. Yet, she has already told the lie, and so she doesn't back down.
Throughout the two series, whenever her daughter in law, or her family are around she keeps up the pretence. She even starts to pretend she's quite militant about it, even though she'll hide in the kitchen eating a slice of ham, when no-one's around. You just know that if Gavin and Stacey remain married for life, Mum will keep up the act. For no other reason than to avoid a small amount of social embarrassment.
I once declared myself vegetarian and unlike Gavin’s Mum, I was actually serious about it. Mostly. But I lapsed often and eventually gave up my “wee carry on,” as I believe my Gran called it, about three years after I’d started it.
This was when I was a student and, unfortunately, one of those three veggie years happened when I was in my study year in Germany. Germany is well known as being the third worst place in the world to be a vegetarian.*
Like Gavin’s Mum I got myself into a veggie related pickle. I was a student teacher in a well-to-do German high school, and within my first week there I was asked on a school trip to some place where they found remnants of Early Man that wasn’t Neanderthal. I hadn’t been paid my first wage yet and had spent all of the money I had brought into the country within the walls of a new thing I’d discovered called the Bier Halle.
So, on the day of the trip I frugally packed some cheese sandwiches in my handbag. Lunchtime came and I tried to wander away from the teachers, to have my packed lunch with the students. The group of four teachers, who consisted of the Headmaster, the Assistant Headmaster and two other near retirement, pipe-smoking, teaching gents insisted I come with them. They knew a great little restaurant. I was to go with them. No argument.
I had only about fifteen deutschmarks to my name. That was just over five pounds. Social embarrassment was just around the corner.
“But I’m a vegetarian” I said.
And I’m not joking folks when I say, they looked at each other with incredulity.
“You don’t eat meat?”
“No.”
I thought saying I was vegetarian would be better than saying, “But, I’ve got no money” to get out of going the restaurant.
I was wrong.
I was practically frog-marched to the restaurant by the guffawing teachers (guffawing at my lack of meat intake, mainly). Once there I was presented with a menu that was, on first look, 100% flesh.
The waiter appeared.
“What do you have for vegetarians?” I said, meekly.
Chorus of laughter. “I just can’t believe you don’t eat meat!” and one phrase that they would say repeatedly to me, “Wie kannst du uberleben?” (How can you SURVIVE?) The headmaster even made a definitive pronouncement, “Man kann nicht uberleben ohne Fleisch” (One cannot survive without meat).
If I hadn’t pronounced myself veggie to start with, I would have silently ordered some chicken and eaten it quietly faced with no alternative. But I had announced my life choice to a group of middle-aged German professionals and had to carry it through. I couldn’t U-turn on my so-called principles, which for all they knew, were deeply held.
“Omelette?” said the waiter.
I bargained for a cheese omelette. My lunch companions ordered a side of boar and a haunch of venison, sprinkled with veal cutlets, sweetmeats and deep-fried songbirds.
When the platter arrived, they dug in heartily, talking about me not being able to uberleben and what a feast I was missing.
My omelette arrived. It was the size of a fried egg. In fact, they must’ve used only one egg in its manufacture.
There was much laughter, and offers of meat to supplement my meagre portion
I ate the omelette slowly but after I'd finished it, I was still starving.
After ten more minutes of watching the men tuck into the fruits of the forest, I went to the ladies loos, locked the door, sat on the toilet and ate my cheese sandwiches from my handbag.
News of my vegetarianism hit the staff room in a matter of hours, like news of an incurable disease.
*Germany comes third to France, which comes second to my Gran’s kitchen
Disclaimer: Three Mexican Stereotypes are included in this post
(Only two are my fault)
A couple of things have happened in the last couple of weeks.You may have noticed I’ve not been posting as much.But it annoys me when bloggers blog about not posting as much, and why. So I won’t on the whole, go there. Thanks to those who contacted me to check that I wasn’t trapped under something heavy or kidnapped by banditos, anyway.
But one of those things that has happened in the last week or so is worth mentioning. Meeester had a sporting accident.A sporting accident which had him off work and by my side here in Misssy M HQ, also known as the House of the Flying Martinis. Also known as my office, during business hours.
Meeester has been asking me why I’ve not been writing about his sporting accident on the Misssives.So here it is. He will love that I have referred to his injury as “a sporting accident.”
Meeester and my sister, Misssy A, are keen badminton players.Misssy A seems to be content with playing every Monday night and thrashing the local competition roundly with the minimum of fuss.Meeester however, will take every chance to play badminton that is offered to him, and given that he is chums with the PE teacher at his school, those opportunities seem to be every break and lunchtime of every single day. He has been known to stand looking at his reflection in a mirror with his badminton racket, practicing moves.Cynics would say this has more to do with admiration than tactics.
Those cynics would be right.
It was only a matter of time before pride came before a fall.And as my sister put it, Meeester is the only person who lunges for shuttlecocks like former Scotland goalkeeper and national bespectacled (stop it....!) hero, Jim Leighton.
One ripped calf muscle later and Meeester was be-crutched and housebound signed off by the doctor for a week. Day one, he was immobile, day two he was shuffly but now able to interfere in Misssy’s working day, Day Three he was pottering about the house with my Papa’s old walking stick pretending to be my Mexican maid, ConcepciÏŒn.
“Meeesus M, I clean your computer. Eeet clean now.” he’d say, brandishing a duster.
“Meeesus M,I read your book... “ he’d say, hovering over me, “I like eet.I make few changes. Hope you no mind....Make hero Mexican.Eet better now...”
By Thursday Meeester is back at work, with walking stick. Securely wedged where sun don’t shine.
The badminton world weeps for its loss.
****
Many thanks to all of you who gave me your comments on your favourite Christmas films on the previous post, by the way. What an overwhelming response! Anyone would have thought you were forced. Oh, that's right...you were.
If you've yet to comment, you can still do it- all opinions count. Some quite surprising films have made it in there....go here to make your views known. And listen out on the 21st December for the results on the radio.
Excitement! This is a mixed media edition of the Misssy M Misssives. Potentially. I need some audience participation for this one. You at the back, sit down and stop making for the door. This won’t hurt a bit. I just need an opinion.
Now, I don’t know how many readers I’ve actually got, because, well you can never really know. Yet, I think I can safely say there’s more than a couple of you out there, so this might work.
I am doing a radio show on Sunday December 21st hosted by fellow blogger, DJ, comedian and all round good egg, Andrew Learmonth on our station Original 106FM. As you may know, I am the film critic on the station and we are proposing to do a Christmas Movie Special. This is where you come in.
I want to know what you think are the best Christmas films of all time. What are your favourites and why. This, I need to know.
I will use this info to come up with my top ten, or to decide which films to include in our hour long film chat.
Now, we’ve got the topic established, I am now going to be completely dictatorial and demand that everyone who reads this post comments with their suggestion in the comments box. Even if someone has already mentioned your favourite, still tell me. Popularity is as important as originality.
When I say "everyone", I mean these people:
1. My usual commenters ("God Bless you! Everyone!") 2. People who’ve been too shy to comment up to now, but are desperate to. 3. My friends who read this blog, but never comment because they usually comment to my face. 4. My relatives who read the blog regularly but never comment. 5. My relatives who read the blog just to check they are not being slagged off. 6. New readers. 7. Returning readers. 8. The legions of editors, publishers and literary agents who are stalking me with a view to offering me lucrative deals. 9. Actual stalkers. 10. Folk who’ve turned up thinking I’m the porn mistress Missy M, and are buckling back up. 11. Folk just here to pinch that naked drunk guy photo from the last post. 12. Folk who used to comment or read, but think I’ve lost it, so don't bother much anymore. 13. Spammers on a break.
14. The abusive commenter who called me "a prick" two months ago.
15. People who just read, but never usually comment.
16. My analyst.
17. Listeners of Original 106 asked to play along.
So go on: fave Christmas movie. To the comments box with you. It’s easy; click on the word comments under this post,and if you don’t have an Blogger account, it doesn't matter- just go anonymous if you’re shy, or type in your name into the Name/URL option, and comment away with all your might. Tell me your opinion and then I’ll post a link to the podcast that your choice may feature in, so you can hear the results. Or excitement of excitements, you can listen live!!!!
Elf: Hmmm, am I a red herring or not?
2. Elf
3.Love Actually
4. Muppets' Christmas Carol
5.Trading Places
6. Die Hard
7. The Nightmare Before Christmas
8. White Christmas
9. Planes Trains and Automobiles
10. Home Alone
