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Title : THARG'S CHRISTMAS SHOCKS...
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THARG'S CHRISTMAS SHOCKS...

Images copyright REBELLION, poem text copyright me

When I was a younger man, I not only looked forward to, but also used to prepare for the coming of Christmas.  I'd buy a copy of The Radio Times and TV Times, and scour their pages, mentally noting what shows, films and radio programmes I'd want to watch or listen to in the run-up to (and on) the big day.  It suddenly occurred to me earlier tonight that, perhaps an occasional issue apart if it had a special cover I liked, I haven't done that in around 20 years, maybe longer.  I find I just don't bother much with whatever's on telly these days - either Christmas or at any other time of the year.

The only thing I decided to watch this year was the 'lost' Morecambe & Wise episode, and even then I forgot about it and only caught it by chance after seeing a TV ad for it on the night.  It made me wonder about what it is that makes us lose our enthusiasm for things that one thrilled or enthralled us when we were younger, and why we so easily lose our once-youthful zest for life.  I'm not saying we want to walk out in front of a bus or anything, but there just seems so very little to get excited about these days when it comes to entertainment on the box in the corner (or on the wall above the mantelpiece) in our living-rooms.  Is it just age, or do we feel that we've seen it all before and nothing much moves us?

Christmas no longer charms me like it once did, though I still like to see decorations lit up in people's homes when I'm out and about shopping.  That aside, I deplore seeing Christmas stock in shops before Hallowe'en has even passed, and I hate the rank commercialism of a season that one seemed so magical when I was younger.  Is it the same for you, or do you still embrace, with joy and enthusiasm, this festive time of year?  If you'd care to, explain why Christmas yet means so much to you, or doesn't, as the case may be.  Before that though, a quick story for you, relating to the Tharg's Future Shocks two pager at the bottom of this post.  (It only just now occurred to me to include it, as it reflects what I was alluding to above.  The post's title came last.)

One day back in the late '70s or early '80s I was browsing through some old Reader's Digest mags stored up in the loft and happened to read an article by someone lamenting the loss of magic from their adult Christmases in comparison to those of their youth.  It struck me as being a good theme for a poem one day (when I could be bothered), but I never got around to writing it until, weeks or months later, one of my pals 'phoned me and said he was writing a poem, but was stuck on how to end it - could I assist?  Sure, I said.

He popped along and showed me what he'd done.  The last verse was incomplete, lacking either two or three lines to draw things to a close.  I therefore made a few suggestions, including the title, and he was delighted, incorporating my contributions into his poem, and off he eventually went, pleased with the result.  However, his meter wasn't exactly perfect in places and his rhyme was a bit forced at times, so I essentially rewrote the poem overnight and made what I considered improvements in those areas.

When I 'phoned him the next day and read him the result, he said "Huh, it's not my poem any more, it's yours!" and I suppose he was right.  My version was inspired more by the Reader's Digest article, but there's no denying that my friend's poem was also an influence.  I typed 'Inspired by lines of verse written by MC' on any copies I made so that he wasn't completely deprived of acknowledgement.  Several years later, when I submitted my version to 2000 A.D. specifically as a Future Shock, the credit boxes didn't allow for more than one name at a time in the space allocated to each contributor, so my pal never got a mention.

I've still got his version somewhere (with my original assistance), and when I find it I'll let you see it so that you can compare their merits.  His first verse is punchier than mine, but unfortunately, his meter wasn't consistent, which is why I rewrote it.  Because he'd said it was now my poem, I subsequently made further amendments so it reflected my 'voice' rather than his, but his incarnation will forever belong to him.

Incidentally, I never submitted an invoice for the poem so was never paid for it.  The copyright on the text is therefore still mine, though the art rights belong to Rebellion.  (Click to enlarge, then click again for optimum size.)

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