Gary William Murning Online

And so it came to pass that in a small, former ironstone mining town, a sigh was born…

I know, I know — not exactly the best start to a blog post, but I’m feeling especially uninspired today, so you’ll just have to grin and bear it. Christmas was nice. There’s no disputing that. It was quiet and relaxing, with a pleasant Boxing Day (the day after Christmas Day, for my American friends) trip to Whitby. But I have to admit, I’m looking forward to getting back into my old writing routine — the new novel already demanding my attention, nagging me to get on with it.

And so, Monday is pencilled in as Day One of My Writing Year. Yes, New Year’s Eve, which I’m even less inclined to celebrate than Christmas. New Year’s Eve but also the beginning of the week, and I like starting a new project on a Monday so…

At this point, I was going to write something about the tragic mess in Pakistan, but I’m not sure I have anything especially original or insightful to add to the other, far more informed commentaries, other than to lament the possible outcome. I’ll leave the causes and implications to the analysts, but I have my pet-theories, as I’m sure we all have.

To finish on a lighter note — Christmas TV. To the Manor Born, anyone? If this is the best the BBC can do, then I give up, I truly do. Badly written, badly acted nonsense with forced relevance and not even a whiff of nostalgia to save it. A good reason to cancel Christmas next year, in my opinion. Utter rubbish.

There. That feels better

The festivities are almost upon us and, as ever, I’m finding myself a little torn. I hear Kirsty and Shane on Radio Two (which didn’t have to be bullied by its listeners into uncensoring the track — largely because its controllers weren’t fucking stupid enough to censor it in the first place!) singing “you scumbag, you maggott, you cheap lousy faggot” and I get all misty eyed, thinking, Oh, that jolly old time of tinsel and stars and mince pies is upon us once more! Or words to that effect. There are angels and shepherds and stuff and peace on earth and…

… and then I feel that old familiar tug. Do I really care? Has Christmas, bearing in mind my all-too-obvious lack of belief, anything for me?

Richard Dawkins, much to the sixth-form-esque amusement of the intellectually challenged (Libby Purves springs to mind), recently described himself as a “cultural Christian” — and when I read of him saying that, yes, he, the dyed-in-the-wool atheist, even enjoyed singing certain carols, I applauded him. He must have realised that he was paving the way for (utterly stupid) questions like “How can you enjoy singing words you don’t believe in?” etc. I’m not going to address that here, though. Such questions show a marked lack of imagination. The fact is, Dawkins was happy to acknowledge that religion can have an aesthetic impact even on someone with no belief in a god, and I welcome that.

At the other end of the spectrum is dear old Christopher Hitchens. Bless him. The Ghost of Christmases That Bloody-Well Never Should Have Been. As antagonistic as he can be, and whilst I would never flee to Cuba to avoid the festivities, as he would, I still kind of admire his complete hatred (I don’t think that’s too strong a word) of the season. I know he too appreciates certain aesthetic accomplishments of “religion”, so whilst he isn’t exactly diametrically opposed to Dawkins’ position, it does seem to me laudably uncompromising (oh, okay, so he admits to enjoying the process of putting up and taking down the plastic tree with his daughter — we all bend a little where kids are concerned… I hope.) He walks the walk.

So where does this leave me? Unlike Dawkins, I don’t especially enjoy carols. The story of the Nativity holds no interest to me (although I was an impressive Joseph at the age of seven… my wheelchair was the donkey, Mary pushed it and Jesus was consequently three weeks premature.) I can certainly appreciate the spirit of Christmas and am willing to concede I’m likely to be more tolerant at this time of year. I enjoy and relish the time spent with my parents, catching up with family and friends and so on. The whole “party” aspect no longer appeals. I have neither the energy nor the inclination. And as for the commercial aspect… well, I find it all a little sad and pathetic. Gift-giving is wonderful, but such excess? I think not.

On the whole, it’s a time of year I enjoy — though, I must admit, my enjoyment comes more and more from not buying into it. Am I a Dawkins or a Hitch? I swing, I guess. I’d like to say I’m a pleasant middle-ground, but that isn’t really true. I make it what I want and need it to be. The Christian and even the Pagan associations are no longer of any concern to me, but I don’t feel (usually) the need to flee to Cuba at the mere sound of the opening bars of “Jingle Bell Rock.”

And on that note, given that I may not be posting over the next few days (though I might if the turkey takes longer than expected ), I’d like to take this opportunity to say, from the bottom of my heart…

BAH, HUMBUG!

(However you celebrate, be safe, be happy and if you’re down Cuba way and happen to see Old Hitch — give him a kiss under the mistletoe from me.)

In the spirit of generosity and love for our fellow humans that even a lowly, hellbound atheist like me can appreciate and aspire to at this time of year, I’d like to share something very special with you.

When I was a wee boy, Christmas was about three things — family, presents (well I was a kid!) and the Royal Institution Christmas lectures. For those of you unfamiliar with the latter, these were accessible (but not dumbed-down beyond recogntition) science lectures, aimed principally at children and shown over the holiday period on the BBC. There were so informative, frightfully British and inspiring that I watched them well into adulthood — and this from 1991 is one of my favourites.

Enjoy!

Part Two.

Part Three.

Part Four.

Part Five.

Part Six.

Part Seven.

Part Eight.

I came across this years ago and have just managed to find it again on YouTube. It appeals to the Grinch in me.

WARNING: CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE AND OTHER MATERIAL THAT MAY OFFEND.