Christmas Markets
The sign pretty much says it all:
"Welcome to Southampton's German Christmas Market 2005"
'Christmas Market' is a slightly misleading term actually. What it should be called is 'Christmas Sheds', or rather just 'Sheds', seeing as it's nowhere near fucking Christmas just yet.
I'm not lying about the sign though and in fact, neither are they. It's exactly the fucking same as it was last year. And the year before that.
If there was some strange chemical imbalance in my brain that made me want to buy vile 'lamps' that are supposed to look like rocks, I'd have bought one two years ago. Beads on string, which are apparently classed as jewellery these days - and even 'rustic German jewellery' just because the woman looks like a bit of a pikey - no thank you, again. For the third year running. I didn't want them last year or the year before so, suprise surprise, I don't want them now.
Come on German Market people and suited wankers at the council who book them every year - innovate, challenge, evolve. It's not that fucking hard.
The only good thing about this is the beer and sausages. Although, to be fair, it's not often I walk down the high street and think 'I'd love an overpriced pissy beer and undercooked sausage right now, so I can stand in the rain and eat it whilst getting cold and wet.' They even put a sign on the sausage stand that says 'Meeting Point'. Like we spend the rest of the year walking round in a fucking daze trying to find our friends.
"Welcome to Southampton's German Christmas Market 2005"
'Christmas Market' is a slightly misleading term actually. What it should be called is 'Christmas Sheds', or rather just 'Sheds', seeing as it's nowhere near fucking Christmas just yet.
I'm not lying about the sign though and in fact, neither are they. It's exactly the fucking same as it was last year. And the year before that.
If there was some strange chemical imbalance in my brain that made me want to buy vile 'lamps' that are supposed to look like rocks, I'd have bought one two years ago. Beads on string, which are apparently classed as jewellery these days - and even 'rustic German jewellery' just because the woman looks like a bit of a pikey - no thank you, again. For the third year running. I didn't want them last year or the year before so, suprise surprise, I don't want them now.
Come on German Market people and suited wankers at the council who book them every year - innovate, challenge, evolve. It's not that fucking hard.
The only good thing about this is the beer and sausages. Although, to be fair, it's not often I walk down the high street and think 'I'd love an overpriced pissy beer and undercooked sausage right now, so I can stand in the rain and eat it whilst getting cold and wet.' They even put a sign on the sausage stand that says 'Meeting Point'. Like we spend the rest of the year walking round in a fucking daze trying to find our friends.
posted by Percy Herbert at
11:07 pm
1 Comments:
Like we spend the rest of the year walking round in a fucking daze trying to find our friends
Oh. Is that just me then? I can never find anyone again if I lose them in Southampton. Friends have considered security tagging me but I'd only lose it. I'm a little bit masculine in my shopping habits (don't get too excited, I shop for shoes like any other vacuous airhead, in that I know where I want to go and I go there. I don't get distracted by 10 jewelery shops, 5 designer label stores and a muffin shop along the fucking way. My friends do. So mid b-line, I lose them. The sheds (lol) are the perfect meeting place because, as you say, no one in their right chuffing mind would ever get distracted by rocks that light up. I mean spare a thought for the kids of Chernobyl. It's like rubbing their faces in it or something.
By
P., at 9:47 pm
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