Fairytale of Truro

As something of a newcomer to Truro, I thought the Wednesday night Christmas shopping extravaganza of a couple of weeks ago was a one-off.

How wrong I was.

Last week, again struggling through a throng of over-sugared school children
and tense looking parents with fixed grins on their faces, I wonder
when it was that I lost my Christmas spirit.

It could perhaps be partly to do with the fact that this year, for the first time in quite a few years, I'm not spending the run-up at home.

I feel almost traitorous spending my money somewhere other than the local shops I
know are struggling under the heavying weight of the recession back in Kent. But aren't the shops here under the same strain? No. That's not it.

Perhaps it is something to do with the fact that as I get older I'm starting to feel a bit disillusioned about the consumership of Christmas.

As we watch our old friend Woolworths buckle to it's knees, Mr J Public almost convulses with the excitement of getting a good deal.

Giving and receiving - fine. Remortgaging your house so your kids can have an xbox and a new pair of Nike Airs? Not fine.

And at times of hardship I'm a big believer in the 'it’s the thought that counts' gifts. Craft-making your way into a solvent Christmas by making someone a shell necklace. Giving your nephew that old mini-mal that hasn't even seen the sea since 1999. But are those kind of gifts really as appreciated as a Cath Kidson luggage bag, or a new Quiksilver Cypher suit?

Perhaps my scrooge-like spirit will vanish tomorrow night as the happy elves of Cornwall and Devon Media will once again let their hair down for a veritable feast of fancy dress and no-doubt drunken debauchery. I'll let you know after the weekend. If I remember any of it, of course…