Another year over...

I have finally got round to completing the Grauniad’s political Christmas quiz of the year - 23 out of 25, a suitably obsessive-but-not-deranged score. (And three better than Rob over at Lib Dem Voice.)

The two I got wrong:

George Galloway is evicted from Big Brother, but only after trying to sweet-talk fellow contestant Rula Lenska by talking about their shared interest in?

Venezuela, Uganda or Nicaragua

(At least I didn’t guess Uganda.)

and

How many Labour backbenchers rebelled against the ID cards bill?

75, 20 or 50

(I stupidly over-estimated the number of Labour MPs who give a damn about civil liberties any more.)

Scenes from the start of Christmas

Catching the train is when it starts for me.

Somehow - regardless of the railway’s attempts to put its passengers in a bad mood by jacking up the prices, cramming the carriages with cattle customers, and ensuring we’re all late for wherever we’re meant to get to - the mood is more cheery.

It’s one of the only occasions in the year you’ll be on public transport when almost everybody is heading for family and/or friends to begin their holiday.

I had a momentary panic yesterday. My iPod has decided to become erratic, telling me the battery is knackered when I’d only just charged it. In itself, that’s annoying. That it should give up the ghost five minutes before I’m about to board a train, and endure three hours of the ‘family carriage’ - the noise of which I can survive only with musical accompaniment - is not my idea of good irony.

(Thankfully, after a few minutes’ rest it got up enough puff to see out the rest of the journey ... before conking out again.)

Chugging into Newton Abbot (left) is when I know I’m on holiday, just half an hour from my parents’ home (or one hour, as First Great Western contrived it to be).

The whole journey had been swathed in a thick, ethereal mist - like something out of The Dark Is Rising - until we reached the coast, and the stretch of track that winds along the stunning Devonshire coast by Dawlish and Teignmouth. It’s a route I know well; but it still takes my breath away.

Last minute Christmas shopping is something I love. I’m sensible enough to have bought most gifts months weeks days beforehand - but nothing beats the slightly giddy, slightly frantic atmosphere of hunting for presents to beat a deadline.

And, almost excitingly, Plymouth’s city centre has had a makeover since last year, with the smart new Drake Circus shopping behemoth (right) replacing its drab predecessor - though, unfortunately, the contrast with the municipal greyness of its concrete neighbours is now quite painful.

It may not have been his most heinous of crimes, but the dreary and characterless architecture of post-war Britain is one that Hitler still inflicts on us today.

Feeling festive yet?

If this doesn’t get you in the Christmas mood, nothing will.

Christmas, Actually

Christmas - it means so many different things to so many different people. Well, that’s the traditional festive cliché done.

To me, it means having to sign 1,600 Christmas cards in the next 10 days; mainly for work. (Though there’s some ‘political’ cards, too. Oh, and I still have a few friends in the real world.)

I refuse to use a stamp or pre-printed cards. And I insist on addressing each one individually. Which is doubtless very sweet of me. In reality, it means that anyone who receives a Christmas card from me after I’ve signed the first 50 won’t be able to read my scrawl. My signature starts to resemble the decline evidenced by Guy Fawkes’ moniker during the course of his torture.

Tonight was the first night, and I got through my statutory 160 in two hours. Co-incidentally the length of time it takes to watch my favourite Christmas film, the unjustly maligned Love Actually. (Yes, I know it was on ITV1 yesterday - yesterday I was talking about Oxford city council’s budget til 11pm.)

Click on my blog profile, and you will see LA listed as one of my top seven films, a view from which I do not resile having watched/listened to it again tonight. As far as I’m concerned, those who disagree have no soul.

Dreaming of a gold Christmas?

Various Lib Dem luminaries have been asked to select their festive choices for reading and viewing. Frankly I’m hurt I wasn’t asked… but I imagine TPTB in the party assumed bloggers didn’t need much of an invitation to thrust their unwanted views on the public at large. And they were right.

So if you’re just dying to know how Ming Campbell, Saj Karim, Dorothy Thornhill, Chris Rennard, Tim Pickstone or Tom McNally are going to be whiling away their time over Christmas then click here. (M’Lord Rennard proves himself to have previously unknown intellectual shallows.)

If, however, you’re looking for some truly stimulating fare, here’s my rarefied short-list:

Books

• JFK: an Unfinished Life, Robert Dallek
• The Discomfort Zone, Jonathan Franzen
• Significant Others (Tales of the City V), Armistead Maupin
• Ruling Passions (Dalziel & Pascoe), Reginald Hill
• On Beauty, Zadie Smith

Other entz

• Frasier, Season 5 (dvd)
• Queer As Folk USA (dvd)
• The Mighty Boosh Live (dvd)
• The Sweet Escape, Gwen Stefani (cd)
• The Wire, Season 1 (dvd)

And don’t forget - if you’re buying through Amazon, click via this link to earn the party some commission.