It was a birthday present from my father-in-law. He and I had had discussions about absinthe from the time I’d arrived in Switzerland. I was particularly interested in the subject, due to an overload of Rimbaud and Baudelaire years before, and just a few months before I’d moved over here and left the US far behind me, the long-existing ban had been lifted on the drink.

My father-in-law had filled me with stories of illegal distillation from his days as a young man, studying business in the French part of the country. Told me about Sundays when he would travel hours by train back to his girlfriend, who in time became his wife. Told me about the Sundays he couldn’t afford to pay the fare, and when he would stay with the family who was renting him a room. Told me about how, on hot holy day afternoons, they would pull out a verboten bottle from the cellar, break out the glasses and sugar cubes and spoons, and get their drink on in the back garden. Pleasantly buzzed, watching the dragonflies hum by.

And so, on my first birthday as a newly stateless person in a country I was struggling my way through, he gave me my first bottle of absinthe. 68% volume, and not at all green. We drank it together, my new family and I. We didn’t drink the whole bottle. The smell put me off, although when I was on my third shot, it didn’t seem quite as terrible as at first.

++++++++++

I had, I have, a lovely friend who was here for four years and then moved back to the States this past summer after her marriage ended. Before she left, she asked me some questions about absinthe. It seemed her elderly mother wanted her to bring back a bottle when she left.

I pulled out what by then was left of my own dusty bottle. She examined the label, and then I offered her a drink. She had a shot, grimaced, and then asked me how to go about getting one for herself. I told her about the specialty bar in the city. I told her I’d go pick up a bottle for her, if she wanted.

I went to the bar, The Green Fairy. Bought a bottle of 72%, two of the traditional glasses, and two of the slotted spoons. Had them wrapped and brought them to her.
“Do you think I’ll be able to get through Customs?” she asked me.
“Why?” I asked.
“Well…” she said.
“Just pack it in the suitcase, not your hand luggage,” I told her.
She did, and it made it through without incident.

Weeks later, it was my birthday. I had a surprise gift—a bottle of the same kind of absinthe I’d bought for my friend. With the glasses, with the spoons. I drank the drink as it was intended for the second time in my life—positioned the spoon over the glass, melted the sugar cube, poured in the water and stirred.

It was sugary sweet, the anise taste tempered by the sugar. My teeth ached; I felt a strange kind of nostalgia that didn’t even belong to me.

One sweet drink was enough. I pulled out the shot glass afterwards, and had a few straight. The room did seem to spin after a little while, but there were no visions or hallucinations. I supposed, later, that if I’d kept drinking, I probably would have seen something eventually.

I’d taken a fast photo of the bottle and the prepped glasses. I posted it on my Facebook account. I had a couple of inquiring minds comment on it:

–Why isn’t it green?
–Delicious! But be careful with that stuff!

Clearly, the mythical Green Fairy still had her dainty, poisonous toehold. She still held the reputation of the dangerous drug of the artist.

But is she that, exactly?

++++++++++

Look, I’ll spare you the suspense, right now:

If you drink absinthe with the expectation of seeing fairies and other worlds, if you indulge in the hopes of some hallucinatory door opening for you and fuelling your creativity or imaginary, ghostly fingertips soothing your brow, you’re probably going to be let down.

If you combine it with other things, or if you drink it until you’re drunk, then yes: You’ll probably see some things then. Or black out, or experience what anyone on a proper bender would. And you’ll probably get there faster with absinthe in the mix, due to its high alcohol content (which ranges from 55-89%, or somewhere between 110 – 178 proof). Other drinks pale in comparison, with the exception of a few—and if you want to know which ones are higher than that, look it up on Wikipedia or something, and I’ll say a prayer for your liver in the meantime.

+++++++++

But then there’s the question of wormwood….

(Every time I hear that word, I’m instantly transported back to a childhood with Sundays spent on a folding chair in a hick Baptist church somewhere in the Midwest, trying not to listen to the preacher ranting on about revelations and eternal damnation:

The third angel sounded his trumpet, and a great star, blazing like a torch, fell from the sky on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water—the name of the star is Wormwood. A third of the waters turned bitter, and many people died from the waters that had become bitter. –Revelations 8:10 and 11.

You know, memories like that, they deserve a drink. But I’ve digressed….)

Wormwood, or Artemisia absinthium, to use its proper species name, is supposed to be what makes absinthe so dangerous. Wormwood contains thujone, once incorrectly classed as a cannabinoid. This is what’s supposed to give you those fabled visions and unhinge you. The thing is, though, that my bottle of 72%– and every other bottle of European absinthe you can get your hands on—contains only very small amounts of wormwood oil, and thus, only low doses of thujone.

All right: The rest of this section was reserved originally for Rigby, my very kind friend, who’d offered to provide his thoughts about wormwood, and his experiments that might or might not make you see visions and inspire you to madness.

But Rigby is off the grid at the moment. And so this will stand vacant for him, thinking of him, hoping that soon he’ll grace me and you sometime soon with that secret knowledge. Although, knowing what I know of Rigby, we’ll probably all be rolling in the gutter holding our guts at a much later date.

But at any rate, no more about wormwood; not until he weighs in.

++++++++++

So at this very moment, at this point in this post, you know basic things about absinthe. I could round it all out and make it much more flowery, but I’ve decided that one fond remembrance, a few basic facts, and a slightly deflating conclusion are enough. There are sites galore that can tell you much, much more than I ever could, and I’d encourage you to go to any of them if more is indeed what you want.

When I offered to write this for Dennis, who’d just got his blog archives back and had opened up DC’s again, I’d just been coming off a very drunken, very hot summer.

Then, nonsensically, I decided to go sober—at least for a while, which has made this rather difficult to complete. It’s now December.

++++++++++

It made sense at the time, even though it was impulsive. It was a decision made when I’d woken up one morning, having bitten my lip so hard during the night that the blood had flowed and it hadn’t even startled me awake, because I’d had no idea of it. It was a night after I’d inadvertently insulted and upset someone I hold dear. There had been some rational reason in my head for the insult initially, but I’d carried it far beyond all good sense. I hadn’t had any sense left by that point. I was fucking, fucking drunk, and worse, I’d lied about how drunk I was.

I was so drunk that when I woke up hours later, I wasn’t even hung over; I was still drunk.

I started to examine the previous evening when sober. I was horrified, to be honest. My sensible reasoning, the thing I usually pride myself on, was lost in the transmission. It was lost in a sea of wine, and absinthe, and whisky. The fact I’d reached a moment when I’d added whiskey on top of absinthe, well, it shows you how numb and dumb my brain had gone—if I’d been thinking much at all, I’d have just stuck with the absinthe and kept going.

When I checked the kitchen and saw how much absinthe was gone, how many shots of whiskey I must have had, I cringed, and made my decision.

++++++++++

I spent a lot of time thinking over my drinking.

I remembered moments from my 20s, when I’d worked for a personnel agency and was the main contact for a rather large bank in the region. I remembered nights of going out with the banking boys, the supervisors and managers. We lined up at the bars, neat in our very conservative suits like little American Psychos, waiting for the bartender to pour out the shots in a row. And pour again, and again, and again… Tequila without the pretense of the salt poured on the crook of your hand to chase it with. I was nearly always the only woman in the bunch, and I could hold my own with them. And because I was young, I would show up to work the next morning in a clean jacket and skirt, stockinged and heeled, scrubbed, perfumed and only slightly bloodshot that was mostly erased by a few eye drops. It earned me respect with the banking boys—that I could still be coherent and perform to expectations. I did it for years and there was never any comment, never any reprimand. I was good. Everybody said so.

++++++++++

I remember how one of my friends, who was verging on blackout more nights than not herself, once told me, “My husband says you drink like a fish.” And I think my only response to her was to ask if I could sleep on their sofa, because there was no way I could drive home.

++++++++++

I remember that when I went home for my father’s funeral, I never cried. He was gone and that was it, and it was like that proverbial monkey temporarily lifted off my back for once. Cleaning out his house, his cellar and workshop was a different matter. As I got deeper into the basement, my sister couldn’t take any more and left me. Went up into the woods and started hacking away at the monkey branches.

Monkey branches. I don’t know what they’re really called; I only know them as that from childhood, when they hung low and were thick enough to sit and swing on. I didn’t have a swing; I had monkey branches, and they were good enough. Now she was hacking them all down while I carried bottle after bottle of wine, scotch, whiskey out from under the workbenches and threw them with hardly satisfying crashes into that huge dumpster we’d rented. Sticky necks and dried little dregs; every bottle was empty. I didn’t find an unopened one anywhere.

I think I cleared out a whole liquor store inventory from that place.

It should have put me off drinking. That would have been a normal response. But when I was lying in his bed, in his bedroom alone late that same night, my thirst seemed to increase and I could only dream of oblivion.

++++++++++

I am my father’s kid. I’m my father’s daughter. No one could deny it. He tried to, for years, but his DNA is in me and it looks like I got it, just like he did: I’m a drinker. I’m a drunk.

That’s my revelation, not even carried on the spittle of a brimstone Baptist, and it’s very bitter, indeed.

++++++++++

It was a Thursday in November and I found myself in a state of mild anxiety, second-guessing a date I’d made to meet friends at the absinthe bar, with the idea that we might film a little of the experience and I could use it with this post.

I had been doing quite well with my sobriety; I hadn’t been drunk since the end of September. I’d kept away from all hard liquor. Now I was envisioning being in that bar and ruining that sense of equilibrium I’d managed to find.

In the end, I begged off. I decided I was going to try to write this thing, whatever you’d call it, without getting drunk to do it. Days kept passing, though, and nothing was happening.

++++++++++

Social media post of mine, December 9:

Conclusion: What is absinthe? A beautiful, stylized disappointment. And nobody can tell me differently.

Related comments:

Friend: Oh poor deprived Mieze, then you have only bad absinthe.

Me: No, it’s good enough. But I never had any great visions. My bad. There are just better highs and worse lows. You know.

Friend: Same here, but still a fine tipple…

Friend: Madame, at this point, I would go all Pavlovian bitch for a fucking Miller’s High Life.

Me: Said like the American you truly are….

Friend: Or better yet a Miller’s tallboy.

Me: Just waiting for you to make the Rolling Rock comment….

Friend: I prefer Genesse Cream Ale, if we’re going all eastern cheap beer. And / or a bazillion Little King’s.

Me: I would say, –Be still, my beating heart. But I’ve got to tell you, I hate beer.

Friend: Single Malt Whisky?

Me: Better.

Friend: So madame, what is your tipple of choice?

Me: None at the moment. Sober as they come for the last couple of months. Who knows the future, though.

Me: It’s entirely self-inflicted. So we’ll find out the backlash in a while, I’m sure.

++++++++++

–Why do I drink to get drunk? I’ve asked myself that question repeatedly over the last few months. I’d never bothered to scrutinize it in any serious way before. I hear these old things in my head, things that friends and colleagues have said to me over time, and I’m surprised I never paid them any attention before now.

You drink like a fish.

You drank that guy under the table.

I’m amazed you’re still standing and not on the floor. I wouldn’t even know you were drunk if I couldn’t smell it all over you.

You’re a real hard-boiled babe, aren’t you.

And those were the backhanded compliments; I’ve shrugged them off for as long as I can remember with a laugh.

I shrugged them off because there’s a component of true enjoyment to my drinking. I enjoy a drink and a cigarette. They go well together, and I enjoy the taste and the feel of the smoke in my lungs, and that warm feeling that spreads out through my body, how it makes me languid and relaxed, how it makes me feel like I’m still a member of the human race. And I know myself well enough to know that one glass will do absolutely nothing; two glasses will relax me, and the third will make me happy. Why don’t I stop there, then?

I drink to have some feeling of control, perhaps. Or I did when I started. To dull down pain, which is how, ironically that I know I actually am a member of the human race—I’ve got pain just like everyone else, and I need to control it somehow.

But the thing is, I don’t know when to stop; I don’t know when the pain is controlled enough. That’s the problem, and that’s what leads to communication like this:

…You started with that drunken idiocy… making no sense at all… Every argument and bad feeling has come from you… You maybe need to look at yourself a little more closely.

And what could I possibly say to that? Because it’s true, it’s accurate. There was much more said than just that, and it hurt to have to acknowledge any of it. I had a choice to acknowledge it or not. In the end, I chose to do just that, because pain control makes no sense when it only creates more of the same. Even I’m not so stupid as to see that. What good is pain control when it only hurts the ones around you?

–Not so much, in the end. It’s never worth that.

++++++++++

I was doing well, but then I had a moment when I fell down, fell off. It came on December 15th, when I made a conscious decision to go out and buy bottles and restock what had been my dry household for an afternoon soaked in fumes. I did it selfishly and I did it because I wanted to, knowing that at the end of it I would be silent and docile and heating up a dinner I’d already prepared and going to bed early in an almost blackout, but not quite. And when I was still half-sober, or a little more than, I wrote this:

I’m so flooded with random memories today.

I’m thinking of the one I love. I can see that in spite of it all, my love has been quite selfish. And I hate that… selfish love.

I’m thinking of my mother, because today’s her birthday. I’m trying not to think of her too much, in fact. I can’t think of her without thinking of the pain she experienced in her life, and how it never abated, how it kept building and building and building. I still miss her, four years and some months after her death, but that feeling, my hurt that she no longer exists and has been gone for so long now, that’s secondary. I can never think of my mother and myself in the same sentence easily. She gave me love and she gave me pain, but that is nothing compared to what she dealt with in her life; and what overwhelms me is not the gulf that always existed between us, but actually that subsuming of how much more pain, how much more despair, took over her life. She started out under tough circumstances, lived her childhood in the Depression, through WWII, but it wasn’t until she married my father that the light went out of her.

I’m thinking of that trap of a house, 4189 H– Road, and how it had been abandoned for years and the owner had bricked up his honeymoon convertible in that seemingly endless tunnel of a garage. I’m remembering how I stood there, six years old, in the dim with only a single overhead bulb to illuminate, watching as my father broke down those bricks and found that car, and the field mice who’d taken up residence in it swarmed out, climbing the walls and scattering for safety. It seemed like hundreds, like thousands while he stamped on them and killed as many as he could under his work boots, while I stayed silently rooted to the spot where I was, terrified by all that frantic wildlife.

I’m thinking of how my father’s liquor and wine bottles replaced those mice, as that space became his workroom. With his punching bag and his hidden photos of other women and his screwdrivers and his saw blades and the rust and the damp and the spider webs, that space was a trauma to clean out; wishing there was a full bottle of something in there to give me enough balls to keep going. But they were all empty, and somehow I still kept going.

Me, drinking to oblivion today. If I could wipe out any or all of these thoughts, it would be right and good. But I have been drinking, to be perfectly honest. I’ve been drinking since 11:17 AM; I noted the time when I started. I’m nowhere near finished yet. I’ll be drinking until at least 17:00, and my hope will be that all of these things will have been banished from my head by then.

++++++++++

Here’s the thing, and it was staring me in the face in the mirror this morning as I was washing up:

Oblivion today isn’t oblivion tomorrow. Not even I can fool myself into believing that. No bottle of absinthe, no bottle of anything is going to give it to me. So I get back on the clichéd wagon, while it moves slowly along at the trot of a worn-out horse, showing me all the debris of life on either side of it and behind it. It’s moving too slowly for me, and I want it to be sped up and I want lots of ground and safe space between me and what’s come before. I want cushioning.

But nobody gets that luxury.

I’m a part of the landscape, and I can see that, and I’ll just have to deal with it.

End, not end.

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. Those of you who are relatively new to DC’s possibly don’t know Mieze, an extraordinary writer, artist, and a very long time and beloved if recently quiet member of the ever evolving community of people who so kindly gather regularly around this place. She has written a very beautiful and lucid post for us today that I hope you will devote some time to reading. Should you do that, it will be an experience with immense benefits, I assure you. Of course, anything that results on your ends that you care to pass along to Mieze would be a wonderful thing, if you don’t mind. Thank you so much, Mieze. It’s glorious to have you and your mind and talent back here. ** Dóra Grőber, Hi, Dóra! I think I’ve made it very clear to my blog that such rude behavior on its part will not be tolerated in the future, so hopefully the coast is clear. Puppy sitting, aw. The buche was and still is very delicious. Oh, I ended up getting this one. It doesn’t look like that anymore since it’s about half devoured. The illness I feared was arriving didn’t arrive after all, or at least not yet. Yesterday started okay with mostly work and relative quiet, but then in the evening Gisele called to let me know that this young dancer who was in the original production of our piece ‘Kindertotenlieder’, and who we’ve known since 2004, killed himself on Xmas Eve. He jumped out of a window. He had been living in Japan for a few years, and I hadn’t seen or talked to him in quite a while apart from a couple of brief Facebook chats. Anyway, that was quite shocking and disturbing news, and so I’m a little shaken up and very sad, of course. But, you know, life continues as it so strangely does. I hope both of our todays are much better than my yesterday. And how was yours? ** David Ehrenstein, Yes, indeed. A very interesting set of directors to a one. ** H, Hi. Thank you so much for saying that about the film post. How exciting that you’re studying with filmmakers. Did they know or like any of the directors I featured? No, I don’t know Jarman’s ‘Will You Dance With Me’. I don’t think I’ve even heard of it before, which is very strange. I’ll go see what I can find of it out in the ether. Have a lovely day whatever the day entails. ** Steevee, Hi. That’s very worrying about Amy Greenfield. I hadn’t heard that she’s ill. I so hope it’s something that she can pull through clearly. Yes, it’s certainly true that people have a kneejerk tendency to think your characters are your mouthpieces. And that your narratives are based on your real life. Etc. It can be very annoying. And it’s true that, although my anarchism infuses all of my work, I think the only time I’ve written in a direct way about it is in the fourth scene of ‘LCTG’, and, in that case, I’m just using anarchism’s tenets as a comedic structure. Well, you just need to find a make-up artist-cum-set-builder to work with you if you do direct. Mm, when I’m writing something, I do oscillate, yeah, for sure. I’m pretty confident about my writing itself after the years of doing it all the time, but I do go back and forth about my decisions about what to do with the writing. One thing I never do is show anyone what I’m writing or have written until I’ve sat on it and revisited it for quite a while. It takes me quite some time to feel confident enough that I can handle an outside opinion with objectivity. If I share something too soon, I just get very confused by others’ input in a counterproductive way. ** Hyperbolic_plain, Hi! Oh, I like it very much! Eternal gratitude. And thank you too for checking out the films yesterday. ** Joseph, Hi. Good, I’m glad the drunk/cat thing didn’t implode. I don’t have cats, so I’m free to imagine implausible horror scenarios, I guess. The poem is wonderful, man! I read it twice yesterday, and it really iulluminated my insides. I’ve heard of that book ‘The Emergence Of Social Space: Rimbaud And The Paris Commune’, but I’ve never read it. As all things Rimbaud-related inherently rivet me, I’m going to write down a note to look for it. Hold on, done. Thank you very much! And have a fine day, sir. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Benster. Oh, right, Boxing Day. I still don’t think I understand what that means or rather what one does to celebrate Boxing Day. Not box people, I’m assuming? ** James Nulick, Hi, James. Very happy to have been able to introduce you to those filmmakers. I really like editing too, whether it’s my own work or others’. I really enjoyed that part of doing the LHotB imprint. Editing is really the only part of wrirting that I truly love. When I’m writing something, I just can’t wait to get the raw material down so I can do the fun part of fiddling with it and wrenching it apart and polishing it and all that stuff. That’s probably one reason why I like making gif fiction a lot. It’s all just searching and choosing and editing. The apartment hunting has been on hold for a couple weeks because I found out that I need to have a French babnk account with a year’s worth of rent in it to be able to rent an apartment. I can’t do anything until that’s in place, so I’m in the middle of setting up that account, and it’s not an easy thing to do, but I think it’ll be in place before too long. Then I can start hunting again. Have a super day. ** Right. Please give yourselves over as meaningfully as you can to Mieze’s text and post today. Thank you very much. See you tomorrow.

“Awful” Christmas attraction closes after ONE DAY

 

It promised a ‘fully immersive’ Christmas experience, with reindeer, a festive market and, of course, Santa’s grotto. But visitors to Yorkshire’s Magical Winterland found it to be far from magical and barely wintry. Children were left in tears as they entered a desolate warehouse with cardboard boxes and random material strewn all over the ground. Magical Winterland only opened its doors on Wednesday, but was forced to pack up just 24 hours later due to its “appalling” quality.

 

 

‘The Yorkshire Magical Winterland, set up at the Great Yorkshire Showground, advertised the event as having “fantastic features” and offered visitors the chance to “focus on losing yourself in our Magical Winterland”. But the grim reality of the Christmas-themed event was that of rubbish-strewn hallways, poorly-constructed exhibitions and sombre-looking reindeer surrounded by a sprinkling of straw.

 

 

‘Hundreds of messages were posted on the Magical Winterland’s Facebook page after it opened. All complained about the price of admission – the top price for a child is £22.50 – and accused the management of misleading the public. Matt Freeman wrote: “I could have cobbled something together better than this in my own back garden for half the cost.”

‘”Something didn’t feel right,” wrote Beryl Mansfield. “Perhaps it was the thick white paint that rubbed off the festive polar bear fountain and all over our clothes. Or the rictus-like grins of the shivering elves in their cheap velour outfits. It was a spectacular disaster of smoking elves, sweary Santas, smelly mud, piles of rubbish and sacks of fake snow dumped on wooden pallets by the main entrance.”

Families were left stumped by many of the exhibitions in the winter walk, saying it was unclear what the scenes were supposed to represent.

 

 

‘Kat Manson, from Skipton, West Yorks, who booked to take her niece Evie to the event, said: “We’ve had a family ticket booked for a long time for this special event. The journey there was full of excitement and wonder, Evie was going meet Santa! We checked the website this morning to see what we were going to be doing but there was no mention of any closure. We were all excited. We arrived at a near empty car park and a lonely car park attendant ushered us into a car parking space without saying a word. We were met at the desk by two female staff who said sorry we are closed. They explained that our tickets were valid for the other days but so many people had complained that it was a waste of money that they were closed. How were we supposed to explain to a four year old girl that she couldn’t see Santa after all. She was devastated. She thinks Santa didn’t want to see her.”

Parents complained about the creepy-looked mannequins and statues of an ice queen and one which looked like an attempt at the Grinch.

 

 

‘Mother-of-one Suzie Smith, of Barnsley, South Yorkshire, who brought her daughter Heidi, two, to the attraction, said: “I had a vision in my head of a really magical place for kids to come before Christmas but to be honest it’s just a bit depressing. The area is too big and they haven’t been able to fill it. It’s been advertised as a magical place to come and it just isn’t.”

‘There were multiple reports that the attraction’s multiple Father Christmases (five were spotted by some confused children) were alternately too gruff, too skinny or smelt of booze. One elf reportedly told a guest to ‘have a s*** Christmas’. The presents they gave out were cheap, plastic and unwrapped. And then there was the “snow”.

‘”Mummy, this isn’t snow. It’s strange,” said one child within earshot of this reporter. He was pointing at what looked like dirty papier-mache spread greyly across the mud outside the front entrance. “It looks like paper. I think it’s litter. It looks like litter. It’s stuck to my boot. Mummy, get it off!”

There was a three-hour wait to visit Santa, who was guarded by another pair of elves who were reportedly Incapable of answering basic questions about the event.

 

 

‘Mother-of-one Laura Bamforth, who is also 30-weeks pregnant, from Pontefract, West Yorkshire, said: “We spent a total of 20 minutes in the building and we were totally appalled with the entire event. The event itself was nothing more than a fairground. The rides was overpriced and the so-called Christmas market was a total of four stalls. When leaving the event feeling very let down we told the staff on reception who also was very rude and never tried to apologise. I would like a refund for all the money I have spent.”

‘One family from Solihull spent £85 on tickets for three adults and two toddlers. “It was even worse than I had read in the newspaper,” said the mother of the family Karen Brosius, 32. “The elves’ smiles were so fixed it was scary. It was as if they had never seen a child before — they didn’t have a clue.”

The festive nine hole golf course promised ‘twinkling Christmas lights, fantastic gifts to overcome and even Santa Claus himself’.

 

 

‘After nearly three hours — a good half of it spent waiting about and looking vainly in the stalls for something decent to buy — this reporter had had enough. As had a young boy near me. “Can we go home now?” he asked his father. “I thought there was going to be snow. But there isn’t — it’s just that strange grey stuff.” And when his father asked him what had been his favorite part of the Magical Winterland, perhaps Father Christmas, or the merry-go-round or the Fairy Queen, or even the two live reindeer? “Splashing in puddles in the car park,” he said.’ — collaged

It is with great regret that we have decided to close Yorkshire’s Magical Winterland at the Yorkshire Event Centre in Harrogate permanently from tonight. We worked very hard to create a family event and have received some positive feedback but also some adverse publicity. We plan to refund anyone who bought tickets in advance and can be contacted at info@yorkshiresmagicalwinterland.co.uk

 

*

 

 

Santa Claus’s House

 

Generally

‘In 1821, the book A New-year’s present, to the little ones from five to twelve was published in New York. It contained “Old Santeclaus”, an anonymous poem describing an old man on a reindeer sleigh, bringing presents to children.

‘Many of Santa Claus’s modern attributes are established in the 1823 poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas” (better known today as “The Night Before Christmas”), such as riding in a sleigh that lands on the roof, entering through the chimney, and having a bag full of toys. St. Nick is described as being “chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf” with “a little round belly”, that “shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly”, in spite of which the “miniature sleigh” and “tiny reindeer” still indicate that he is physically diminutive.

‘As the years passed, Santa Claus evolved in popular culture into a large, heavyset person. One of the first artists to define Santa Claus’s modern image was American cartoonist Thomas Nast, an American cartoonist who immortalized Santa Claus with an 1863 illustration for Harper’s Weekly in which Santa is shown dressed in an American flag, and has a puppet with the name “Jeff” written on it.

The story that Santa Claus lives at the North Pole may also have been a Nast creation. His Christmas image in the Harper’s December, 1866 issue included the caption “Santa Claussville, N.P.” In 1869, a poem appeared in Harper’s titled “Santa Claus and His Works” by George P. Webster, which stated that Santa Claus’s home was “near the North Pole, in the ice and snow”. The tale had become well known by the 1870s.

‘The popular conception of Santa Claus’s home traditionally includes a residence and a workshop where he creates — often with the aid of elves or other supernatural beings — the gifts he delivers to good children at Christmas. Some stories and legends include a village, inhabited by his helpers, surrounding his home and shop.

‘By the end of the 20th century, the reality of mass mechanized production became more fully accepted by the Western public. That shift was reflected in the modern depiction of Santa’s residence—now often portrayed as a fully mechanized production and distribution facility, equipped with the latest manufacturing technology, and overseen by the elves with Santa and Mrs. Claus as executives and/or managers.’ — collaged

 

 

Architecturally

‘There’s an old riddle that challenges children to draw a diagram of a house without lifting their pencil or repeating a line. The basic shape is composed of a square with diagonals running from corner to corner, topped with a triangular roof. In Germany, kids are taught to speak one syllable of the phrase, ‘Das ist das Haus des Nikolaus,’ for each line they draw. The game is known as ‘The House of Santa Claus.’ This simple line drawing represents some of the architectural imagery that forms the setting of the Santa Claus myth. His home, village and workshop, have transformed through the centuries in step with the evolution of the man himself.

‘Scandinavian influence on the St. Nicholas myth formed the basis of the Santa Claus story and would be the first point of reference for his architectural traditions. Now living at the North Pole, his house was believed to be a traditional earth hut of northern Lapland. These circular homes were constructed of curving pine rafters that formed a dome shape, supported with sod and covered with reindeer skins. A hearth was placed at the centre of the room, vented through a smoke hole at the top of the structure. Village shaman would traditionally enter through these holes, thought to be the origin of Santa’s ritual chimney descent. Children in Denmark and Greenland today believe that Santa Claus lives in one of these huts on the island of Uummannaq in western Greenland.

‘As the legend of St. Nicholas continued to evolve, his home became associated with traditional Scandinavian log structures that combined the artistic skill and woodworking techniques of Viking ship building. Known as stave construction, unpainted vertical pine logs were set within a post and beam frame that supported a high pitch, wood shingle, pagoda style roof. Gables, doorways and structural supports were decorated with ornate wood carvings similar to the prow of a Viking ship. This timber frame, alpine image has prevailed through the centuries as a common representation of Santa’s home in popular culture.

‘Popular associations with the architecture that surrounded Santa changed in the late 1800s into the traditional half-timber buildings common in northern Europe. This construction style uses large oak timbers to create a structural frame that is filled with light coloured brick and plaster. The contrasting dark wood columns and angled bracing form a distinctive pattern that is expressed on the building’s exterior. This construction method was widespread across northern Europe and has become the predominant architectural imagery related to Santa Claus, found in snow-globes, children’s books and on Christmas decorations.

‘The 20th Century did see periodic diversions from this traditional imagery. In England, the characterization of Santa as a “right jolly old elf” resulted in his home being represented at shopping malls and department stores as a grotto or magical cave, the mythical home of Scandinavian elves. Popular children’s holiday cartoons such as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Santa Claus is Coming to Town, portrayed Santa living in a Romanesque style, Bavarian castle with towers, gables and ornamental turrets.

‘Modern interpretations have generally returned to the image of European half-timber buildings, but with the introduction of Santa’s workshop, the architecture of the North Pole has taken on a grander scale. Modern Hollywood movies describe Santa’s home as a bustling European style, medieval village surrounding a monumental production and distribution facility, equipped with modern manufacturing technology, staffed by teams of tireless elves.

‘As the depiction of Santa Claus has evolved through the centuries, so, too, has the architecture that provides a context to his myth. Santa’s timeless image will likely remain consistent in the future, but his architecture will continue to evolve.’ — Brent Bellamy, Number Ten Architectural Group

 

 

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Interview

 

Do you have visitors at the North Pole?

Well it is a little difficult to give direction, because the North Pole is not stationary, the water above which is thick ice is constantly moving because of the ocean currents. If I were to give you directions on where we were by the time you got here we wouldn’t be here. If it were not for my reindeer’s keen sense of direction I might get lost too.

Do you live at your North Pole Village?

The North Pole is my permanent residence and the place I love the most. But, throughout the year I visit many cities and countries, where I stop and stay for a few days. Many of my favorite places to visit are a secret known only to Mrs. Claus and me.

What do you do when you’re not making toys?

Santa relaxes by walking in our forest just outside North Pole Village and listening to the voices of the wilderness. I also spend time preparing for next Christmas delivery by reading children’s letter. You know children write me all year long and I so do look forward to hearing from each of them. My favorite pastime is reading books and listening to music.

Do you understand animal language?

Why yes, I understand a little animal language. But actually the animals are very smart and they totally understand everything that I say. Have you found that you do not always understand one of your pets, but they understand things that you say or tell them. It’s really remarkable.

Are all the gifts made at Santa’s North Pole Village?

Not all of them. Some are made at home, and they are especially precious. You’ve surely heard of homemade jelly or mustard or hand knit wool socks. In some places there are little workshops that also help Santa by making gifts.

How many elves are there living at North Pole Village?

That’s something no one knows exactly. Elves are such fast little people, and they are rarely ever all in the same place at the same time. But when the sun sets in the North Pole, there are probably as many little elf toes under the blankets as there are stars in the night sky, if not more.

Do you have swimming trunks?

Indeed I do, and I use them regularly. I like to swim best in the summer but I am known to jump into the icy cold water and play with Polar Bears, but I always make sure the Elf lifeguards are on duty.

What does your house look like?

That’s a good question.

 

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65 educated guesses

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25 defunct Xmas themed parks and attractions

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Cidade Albanoel (Paraty, Brazil)
If you like your Christmas-themed amusements to have a little more edge, then this derelict Santa Claus theme park in Brazil is for you. The vast park, where construction began in 2000, was intended to be spread over 38 million square metres, but was never completed after the Brazilian politician who came up with the idea was killed in a car crash right outside its entrance. The site remains filled with gradually decaying Santa figurines, rusty reindeer rides and crumbling candy cane turrets, making it feel more eerie than festive.

 

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A Winter Wonderland (Milton Keynes, UK)
Queues for miles, outrageous prices and a melting ice sculpture: it wouldn’t be Christmas without another tale of a disastrous “winter blunderland”. Families who tried to attend the Christmas Wonderland event in Milton Keynes were promised an “evening of enchantment and adventure”. Instead of which they were met with the bizarre spectacle of what appeared to be a man in a wheelchair on fire. Organisers took down their Facebook page after it was inundated with complaints, with some visitors saying they had queued for two hours to get in, only to see some melting ice sculptures and “just fairy lights hung over some trees”.

 

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Santa’s Land USA (Putney, Vermont)
You won’t find a brochure for Santa’s Land USA easily in Vermont. The official Vermont Attractions Map does not list it. It has no billboards. Even the publicity material for Santa’s Land USA’s home town, Putney, VT — which carries glowing descriptions of local businesses like Basketville and the Putney Food Co-op — fails to mention Santa’s Land USA. The entire attraction, which covers many acres of pine-shaded woods, appears to be run by five people: the kindly lady in the gift shop, the guy who sprints between the Sweet Shoppe and Candy Cane Cupboard, the train engineer, the kiddie ride attendant, and Santa. The first thing that catches our eye when we enter the park through the fairyland cottage gift shop is a huge blob of discolored white stuff lying near a little pond. What is it? Fake iceberg? A wad of funnel cake that fell out of Valhalla? The TV in the kid’s video theater in Santa’s Arcade shows nothing but electric snow. We walk up the hill to the quiet of Santa’s House, and can see red legs through the doorway. Santa sits, motionless. We assume he’s a stuffed dummy. Then a truck klaxon echoes through the woods — the over-the-top horn for the tiny Alpine Train — and Santa jerks to life. “Ho ho,” he says groggily. “You caught Santa napping.” The next words out of his mouth startle us even more than finding him asleep. “You look like prosperous gentlemen. Would you like to buy Santa’s Land?” Santa says that the park’s current owner wants to sell the place. The owner’s pumped a lot of money into its electric wiring and septic system — over $100,000 by Santa’s guess — but the right buyers have been as elusive as flying reindeer. The manager abruptly left a couple of weeks ago, and the place is currently run by the multi-tasking Sweet Shoppe guy. “The original owners — I forgot their name, I forget everybody’s name — built it. There used to be an airstrip here. For the war, you know. It’s not here any more.” Santa recalls that a family named Brewer purchased the park in 1970 and ran it for almost 30 years. “This place was Mr. Brewer’s pet. It did quite well for a few years, but then it sort of petered out. They lived up there, in the Igloo Pancake House,” Santa says, pointing into the woods. “Before it was the Igloo Pancake House. If you take the train, and get off at Pancake Junction, you’ll see it. It’s an igloo-type thing.” Note: Santa’s Land USA closed on Dec. 18, 2011.

 

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Dickens Victorian Village (Cambridge, Ohio)
Welcome to Cambridge, Ohio, a small town that, until last year, celebrated the holidays in a big way, from Dickensian street scenes to contemporary light shows. It all started eight years ago, when Bob Ley, who owned a men’s clothing store downtown, traveled to Oglebay Resort, the city park in Wheeling, W.Va. that stages a major holiday light festival every year. Why couldn’t Cambridge capture some of those thousands of drivers traveling along I-77 to Wheeling? So Ley and his wife, a retired English teacher, came up with an idea: Create street scenes, with full-size mannequins depicting life during Dickensian England, and place them throughout downtown. At the annual event’s height in 2013, visitors saw 160 statues – including a cast of characters from Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” a group of ice skaters, a chimney sweep, money lenders (placed strategically in front of US Bank), a beggar, a bobby, a blacksmith, and a man in a wheelchair.

 

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The Death Yard Christmas Haunted Attraction (Nashville, Tennessee)
“Instead of Christmas cheer, we are spreading some holiday fear,” said Carroll Moore, who in 2014 turned his Halloween season “Death Yard Haunted Attraction” in Hendersonville into a Yuletide horror show. For $10 and an unwrapped new toy, visitors passed through the 13,000-square-foot warehouse northeast of Nashville crammed with Yuletide horrors. For $5 more and a second toy, they could go to the paintball range just outside and take 15 shots at Zombie Santa and his friends. “You can unload on the undead,” Moore said. “Maybe Santa Claus wasn’t good to you last year.” Moore also offered chainsaw-wielding maniac elves, rabid and violent reindeer, and killer Mrs. Santa Clauses. The unwrapped new toys were intended to go to Last Minute Toy Store, which operated out of a Nashville church and gave parents who could not afford toys a chance to look for things their children might want, for no cost. All was well until Nita Haywood, who ran the Last Minute Toy Store at the 61st Avenue United Methodist Church, where she was director of youth and family ministries, visited the Horrific Haunted Holiday two days into its intended three week run. “I was horrified and nauseous,” she said. “The presence of the Devil was very, very strong.” After speaking to local police and the mayor, the attraction was immediately shut down. “New toys are new toys,” she said. “But not when they come from Hell.”

 

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Santa’s Village (Dundee, Illinois)
Santa’s Village in East Dundee, Illinois (1959-2006) was a theme park built in 1959 by H. Glenn Holland who also built the other two in San Bernardino County, California and Santa Cruz County, California. This park was the third and last that he built. The buildings were modeled on what an average child might imaging Santa’s Village would look like. When it opened, it was a very prominent theme park. Over the parks history more than 20 million people passed through the front gates. One addition to the park, opened in 1963, was the Polar Dome which provided an ice skating and hockey venue under a forced-air supported dome. On November 28, 1966, a strong wind caused the Polar Dome to collapse. The unsuccessful launch of the Typhoon roller coaster and decreased attention to the aesthetics of the park eventually prompted the corporation to sell. The sale did not proceed as smoothly as hoped, and with many setbacks and unmet deadlines the park had to shut its doors.

 

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Santa Present Park (Hokkaido, Japan)
This amusement park has to be included among the most poorly conceived, planned, built, and attended amusement parks in history. It was tied into a popular ski resort and featured numerous Christmas-themed attractions including four roller coasters. Like all theme parks in Japan, it was only open during the non-winter months. Unfortunately, the ski resort was only open during the winter season. Long story short, after having been built for $10,000,000, it never opened and was torn down after standing empty for eight months.

 

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Magic Forest (Lake George, New York)
This was the weirdest place I’ve ever been. I came for Santa and for Lightning the diving horse, and stayed for all the other weeeeird ass shit. It was OLD OLD OLD, snack bar (wish I’d brought my own food) OLD OLD OLD. Sign on the gift shop read, closed but go to the snack shop if you want to buy something. During the Christmas Safari ride (don’t ask me), we noted three instances of racist portrayals. As we got on the ride, I almost knew it was coming. The first was a display with a person being boiled in a pot with dark-skinned mannequins all around holding spears. Ugh. The whole park was dirty, in definite disrepair, and some of the ride operators were creepy, rude and two seemed kinda drunk. Needless to say, it was magical! RIP

 

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Sherborne Wharf’s Search for Santa (Birmingham, UK)
Until 2014, Sherborne Wharf near Brindleyplace used to run canal trips through Birmingham city centre on a quest to find Father Christmas. All participants were geared up with the latest “Santa-detecting technology” and shipped off aboard narrow boats in search of the Man in Red himself. Apparently finding him wasn’t very hard and, when he was found, he wasn’t very interesting.

 

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Santa’s Village (Scotts Valley, California)
In 1958, Santa’s Village was created in the wooded hills of the Santa Cruz mountains. This Christmas wonderland served thousands of park visitors each year with its holiday cheer! Residents of Santa’s Village included Santa and Mrs. Claus, their elves and gnomes, who operated the rides and sold tickets. There was a baby petting zoo filled with goats, sheep, bunnies, ducks, deer and a Mexican burro. Children could feed the animals green feed pelets that they purchased from dispensing machines. Four reindeer from Unalakleet, Alaska, pulled Santa’s sleigh. There was a bobsled ride, a whirling Christmas tree ride and a miniature Santa’s Express train ride. Other attractions included a giant Jack-in-the-Box, an Alice in Wonderland maze, Santa’s enormous boot, brightly painted cement mushrooms and a Queen of Hearts figure … all part of Fairytale Land. Mrs. Claus had her own kitchen, where hamburgers, hotdogs and steak sandwiches were served. An egg-shaped cottage and a shoehouse were open for children’s exploration and imaginations. In 1977, after the Santa’s Village Corporation had filed for bankruptcy, Billawalla bought the whole of Santa’s Village for $615,000, speculating that he could build a more attractive theme park there. The City of Scotts Valley rejected Billawalla’s plan to create a Knott’s Berry Farm-type complex, which would have included a hotel, a shopping center and rides. That year there were heavy rains during the park’s peak season of November and December, coupled with the political bureaucracy of the City of Scotts Valley … it proved to be the death nell for Santa’s Village.

 

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Parlor Lucky (Tokyo, Japan)
Parlor Lucky was a karaoke bar in the Ginza section of Tokyo where patrons could only enter if they were wearing a Santa Claus costume. Costumes could be rented at the Santa Claus Everyday rental costume store next door.

 

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Christmas Land (Marshall, Texas)
Seasonal attraction with year-round Santa statue, sometimes headless, now reduced to an entry sign.

 

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Christmas Fantasy Village (Great Bend, Kansas)
Christmas Fantasy Village (1979 – 2000) was located on Highway 281 about 3 miles south of Great Bend. If you followed the lighted signs during the winter that started at 10th and Main, you were able to find it. You knew you were there when you saw the 50 foot tall lighted snowman! The Christmas Fantasy Village started as a couple’s celebration of Christmas, and turned into a local event.

 

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Santa Land and Zoo (Cherokee, North Carolina)
I haven’t been able to find out the history of the park, but I suspect it was around for a while. Many of its kiddie rides dated back to the 1950s and a few of them came from the Allan Herschell factory. The Rudicoaster was exactly the same as the coaster in Santa’s Village in Ontario; a steel figure-8 configuration with a Rudolph themed car in the front. There was also the token train, a CP Huntington, that went around the entire park. Kids could visit with Santa in his house every day. He had a large sleigh they could sit in and tell him their secret wishes.

 

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Elf School (Brierly Hill, UK)
For one strange Christmas season in 2013, kids from Brierly Hill and beyond were welcome to enroll in Elf School, going through what as billed as a complete elf makeover, learning an elf chant, and taking home their own elf hat. Finally, they got to meet Santa and visit his toy shop where they could choose a present to take home with them. The Elf School experiment was never repeated because many parents complained that, after the event, their children were acting strangely and, in some cases, refused to return to their human form to the point that the parents were driven to seek psychological counseling for their brainwashed children.

 

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Santa Land (Santa Claus, Arizona)
Nina Talbot and her husband founded Santa Clause in 1937 with the hopes of turning the desolate wasteland into a place where families could settle and live the suburban dream. They hoped to attract investors with North Pole themed buildings and children’s attractions dubbed Santa Claus Land. Unfortunately for the Talbots, investors never came. Thought a diner in the quaint snowy desert oasis gained a few fans through the years—including Duncan Hines and actress Jane Russell—the Nina Talbot sold the land in 1949. By the 1970s, the town had started to fall into disrepair. Now, derelict wooden huts and barbed wire fences are clear signs that Santa Claus doesn’t live there anymore.

Alive

 

Dead

 

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Eastland Mall Christmas (Charlotte, North Carolina)
Eastland Mall was famous in North Carolina in the 1990s for its yearly elaborate Christmas makeover. Until everyone stopped going there. Or caring. In about the year 2000 when it closed and became an empty shell. There were plans to turn the giant building into a movie studio but they never panned out. So they tore it down.

 

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Santa’s Village (Lake Arrowhead, California)

 

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Santa Claus Land (Santa Claus, Indiana)
Santa Claus Land opened August 3, 1946; the theme park included a toy shop, toy displays, a restaurant, themed children’s rides, and, of course, Santa. Koch’s son Bill soon became the head of Santa Claus Land. In 1960, Bill married “Santa’s daughter,” Patricia Yellig; he remained active in the family business until his death in 2001. Bill and Pat had five children; the eldest, Will, was the park’s president for more than 20 years until his unexpected death in 2010. Over the decades, Santa Claus Land flourished. Children from across the country came to sit on the real Santa’s knee and whisper their Christmas wishes. Guests included Ronald Reagan, who stopped by in 1955.

 

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Ruislip Winter Wonderland (Northolt, UK)
Parents have vented their fury after another winter wonderland festive fun fair has been cancelled just two days before it was due to open. Despite announcing the event more than a month ago, the Ruislip Winter Wonderland in north London, was cancelled yesterday with organisers citing a disagreement with landowners. Today, one day before the scheduled opening, the site earmarked for the funfair at India Gardens in Northolt appeared barren and undeveloped. A “star-studded” opening night featuring appearances from I’m A Celebrity contestant David Van Day, EastEnders actor Matt Lapinskas and Coronation Street star Adam Rickitt was due to take place tomorrow. Other celebrity scheduled guests included Blue singer Lee Ryan, Another Level singer Dane Bowers and boxer Joe Calzaghe. Since the statement was posted more than 200 angry parents have posted messages over their disappointment, with some saying they believed it might have been a hoax. Nicola Powis commented: “The idiot running it has showed unprofessionalism, petulance and idiocy in all of the responses to the comments. I don’t believe they ever had any intention of putting on the event. Idiots.”

 

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Minnie’s Christmas Party (Anaheim, California)
Minnie’s Christmas Party premiered at Disneyland on November 2, 2001, for the 2001 holiday season. But that was the end of its run. In fact, that was the end of having Christmas shows in the Fantasyland Theatre. Minnie’s Christmas Party was virtually nonexistent in scope. The set was simplistic and flimsy enough that vibrations from the passing monorail caused it to shake so violently that an earthquake was hastily written into its plot. The plot — humans visit Minnie Mouse on Christmas — was dispatched with in five seconds followed by 45 minutes of yelling, jumping up and down, and painful stretches of up to minutes with performers standing in stunned silence. The script seemed to be written for children under the age of 1 year old.

 

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The Christmas Factory (Athens, Greece)
If you are outside of the country of Greece, the Greek National Tourism Organization would like you to believe that The Christmas Factory, “the most fabulous factory of Christmas”, has returned to Technopolis – City of Athens in Gazi from November 28, 2015 to January 6, 2016. It is claimed this amazing theme park is installed in the centre of the city and – “with the help of elves, fairies and goblins – aims to spread the magic of Christmas to all visitors to Greece”. Holiday travelers to Athens are told of the games, sweets, ‘cheats’, songs, presents, awards awaiting them at the Santa’s House, the Toys Factory, the Digital Christmas, the Sweet Factory, the Ice Rink, the Carousel, the Train, the Wheel and the Slides “thanks to these fanciful heroes”. The interesting thing is that there is no advertising for The Christmas Factory inside of Greece. That is because there is no money in Greece to produce The Christmas Factory this year. Visitors lured to Athens by the florid advertising for The Christmas Factory which is widespread throughout Europe, paid for by God knows whom, will, upon reaching the site of The Christmas Factory, find instead a single mechanical man statue dressed in a Santa Claus costume that has seen better days standing on the sidewalk. His recorded and looped voice thanks whoever has found him for visiting Greece in its time of need. You will also find two members of the military stationed near the Santa Claus mechanical man who will confiscate your phone or camera if you try to take a picture.

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DC’s Animated Xmas Tree Lot

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You are sort of there: Lapland New Forest

 

‘Creating a winter wonderland really does take a lot of care and expertise. Artistic attention to detail is crucial to creating Santa’s frozen arctic world just five miles north of Bournemouth. For this reason we have bought in many specialists and showmen, including the multi award-winning Hollywood film and tv special fx’s experts who made the awesome winter scenes in films such as: Archangel, Gladiators, Vertical Limit, The Day After Tomorrow, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, Dr Who and more … With the Snow Business ice experts on board, we can assure you of an absolutely magical scene.

‘After your journey through the beautiful Tunnel of Light where you post your christmas wish to the North Pole Post Office, you will enter the incredibly beautiful ‘frozen’ world of Lapland village, with it’s snowy log cabins and fantastic ice rink that Santa brought along for everyone to play on …

‘Inside the real log cabins you will find helper elves busy with interesting Christmas preparations and other activities that you can either join in or learn all about: Toy making, Dolls House making, Rocking, Chair making, Gingerbread decorating, Face Painting, Sled dog running and adventure … & more … and then there’s the bustling Christmas Market with it’s stalls ranging from xmas paper to xmas trees, for the mums and dads to discover …

‘But do remember at some point during your 4-6 hour day to seek out Shamus the Elf, as only he can lead you to Father Christmas, who is waiting to give all the under 12’s their top quality personal present.

‘As our show is being staged for the first time our website can only begin to hint at the wonder of our winterland to be. Next year’s online presentation will be a total treat to view and we really do wish that we could show you just how incredibly spectacular Lapland New Forest will look at night.’ — Lapland New Forest

 

 

‘Lapland New Forest park claims to offer families a magical festive experience. According to the scores of disgruntled visitors streaming out of the gates, experience is one word for it. As tempers fray, it seems this little corner of Lapland, which opened on the Dorset-Hampshire border at the weekend, is going from mudbath to bloodbath.

‘The two brothers behind the business venture misled its visitors, many of whom had travelled long distances, it was said Victor and Henry Mears advertised the park with a website that depicted images of an ice rink and a bustling snow covered Christmas village. A flyer also claimed to offer the chance to see a polar bear – which turned out to be a model. Yhe ‘magical tunnel of light’ was merely fairy lights strung from trees and the ‘wonderful’ ice rink was broken. The advertised ‘delicious seasonal food’ at the Christmas market was discovered to be two stands offering pork and stuffing baguettes and German sausages. In court, Henry Mears said: “Whatever you do, you will find the public complain about something.”

‘One visitor, Dawn Saxby-Willis from Ringwood, said: “I was absolutely stunned at how poor we and our children were treated. I took my son to the toilet and he saw ‘Santa’ having a cigarette break at the side of a Portaloo. Needless to say, the two reindeer – one with a broken antler – were clearly not enjoying their experience. The majority of the huskies were chained up behind a fence whining, others were chained up outside some of the wooden sheds with no-one looking after them.

‘One security guard, who obligingly told visitors at the gate they were about to be ‘ripped off’, quit after being hit on the head by one who didn’t appreciate the advice. Adrian Wood, 49, was full of tales from the warzone. “Santa was punched by a furious father who had been waiting in line for four hours,” he said. “He had got to the front only to be told he couldn’t take a picture of his children and that they weren’t allowed to sit on Santa’s lap. The family were then told they would have to get in another queue to get their presents. That was the final straw.”‘ — collaged

 

 

‘Emma Craven and Daryl Yarwood left their jobs as Santa’s little helpers at a “Lapland” theme park in Dorset amid fears the stress would make them ill. And Emma said: “When I got there I was thinking ‘Oh my God, is this it?’ It was a huge muddy field with a few sheds popped in it and a few little Christmassy looking things. Angry people just kept shouting, ‘Is this it’? It was really doing my health in.”

‘Frustrated customers attacked three elves and a Father Christmas after forking out £30 a ticket to queue in a muddy field for Lapland New Forest. Dozens of workers at the attraction, which had a closed ice rink and a nativity scene nailed to a billboard, were pulled out for their safety by an employment agency. Trading standards had over 2,000 complaints. The attraction opened during the holiday season in 2008 and was labelled as a “glorified car-boot sale”.

‘Elf Emma quit the park after she was slapped in the face by an incensed mother. The 30-year-old, from Bournemouth, said it happened as she looked after a queue of punters at the grotty grotto. Emma said: “From the first morning I worked there it was just a barrage of abuse from the moment you got in until the moment you left. “People kept asking me, ‘Is this it’? and telling me what a rip-off it was and how we should be ashamed of ourselves.”

‘Pal Daryl left his grotto job after just four days — sickened at ordering parents to fork out £10 extra to have their kids photographed with Father Christmas. Daryl, 23, said: “From the first day we were all getting stressed out. There were parents screaming at me and children crying. It was really badly organized. I nearly got lynched. If I didn’t have the mental strength it could have made me ill. I’d definitely have quit if the agency hadn’t pulled us out. It’s not like it was big money. They offered us £5.90 an hour.”’ — collaged

 

 

‘Visitors who had paid up to £30 each for tickets to a “Christmas Wonderland” in the New Forest were turned away yesterday by a woman shrieking: “Santa’s dead.” This morning a convoy of lorries and horseboxes carrying reindeer, donkeys and huskies left the muddy site after contractors called in the police, claiming they had not been paid. More than 50,000 tickets to the attraction known as Lapland New Forest had been sold in advance. It is not known whether any of those who had paid up to £130 for a family ticket would get their money back.’ — collaged

 

 

‘Families have been left stunned, shocked and speechless after two brothers accused of conning people into visiting a Lapland-style theme park had their convictions overturned. Victor and Henry Mears, from Brighton, were jailed for 13 months in March this year and have both now served their sentences. At the original trial the brothers denied eight charges of misleading advertising but they were found guilty on all counts by the jury at Bristol Crown Court.

‘Lisa Perry, from Wyke Regis, and 12 members of her family went to the attraction which was based at Matcham’s Leisure Park. She said: “I’m stunned. I can’t believe how they can overturn the conviction on the strength of that. I don’t know what else to say, I’m speechless.” Mrs Perry said that her family had been disappointed with their experience and never got any compensation for the £300 they paid. She said: “You had to be there to see it. I have never been to anything as bad as that.”

‘Christine and Eddie Teague, from Dorchester, took their grandchildren to the attraction and said it was ‘nothing like’ what they were expecting.Mrs Teague said: “I think it’s a disgrace. I took my two grandchildren. We waited for hours to see Father Christmas.” She added: “It was nothing like Santa’s Grotto, nothing at all.”’ — collaged

 

 

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p.s. Hey. I decided for whatever reason that your Xmas present would be the resurrection from the dead of five old Xmas posts from the past that got murdered by Google along with my former blog, and so there’s a gigantic post for you if you find yourself with nothing more fun to do on Xmas Eve or X-Day itself. Otherwise, I’ll just add that I seem to be coming down with some kind of illness, so if I seen fuzzy in the p.s., that’s why. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. Cy Twombly wishes. Great, just in time to be a Xmas present: your ‘Silence’ review! I will savor it in just a short while. Everyone, Mr. Ehrenstein has focused his always masterful thoughts and writing abilities on Martin Scorsese’s new and 30-years in the planning film ‘Silence’, so go check it off your Xmas to-do list and enjoy the spoils. Here. ** Steevee, Hi. I really need to see ‘TONI ERDMANN’. Either it hasn’t opened here or I missed its run. Everyone, Here’s Steevee. Listen/read up: ‘Here’s my review of my favorite film of the year, TONI ERDMANN’ Curious to hear about your new film idea when the time is right. ** Tosh Berman, Hi, Tosh. Oh, gosh, yeah, I think sharing one of those Bellmer/Zurn photos could easily have knocked you off Facebook. You’re a brave man. I hope if you’re doing anything related to Xmas it’s as festive as anything could be. ** Bill, Hi, B. I do know that Zurn is one of your inspirations, yes, and I was consciously hoping the post wouldn’t let you down. I assume that by the time you see this, you’ll be far away and hopefully happily so. Enjoy the beginnings! ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, T. A massive sprawling essay … yum, obviously. Yes, I’m picking up the buche that I ended up selecting amongst those that were still on the market this afternoon. And this one is the winner. Have the loveliest Xmas! ** Marilyn Roxie, Hi, Marilyn! Very happy holidays to you! Obviously I’m very happy that Zurn’s work and the Bellmer/Zurn photographs are useful and inspiring for you. That’s the best! And thank you for investigating my music faves. Klara Lewis is wonderful, yeah. Have a great weekend! ** Misanthrope, Hi, George. It is an awfully good book. And, yes, exactly, about what Serdar wrote. I’m right there with you, man. I’ll look for your email, thank you. I’m sure you and your lot are going to do Xmas up prettier than heck, so enjoy all of the food and, I presume, the football or something, and everything else. ** Kyler, Hi, K. Suicide is both an incredibly difficult and immensely interesting thing for me, in massive part because of George. I personally am not suicidal at all, or not since I was a gloomy, confused teenager at least. I hope your Xmas goes very well. Are you in NYC or down with the folks or … ? ** Jeff Coleman, Hi, Jeff! It’s really nice to see you, man! Happy Xmas whatever that entails! Great thoughts and words re: and deriving off Zurn, my friend. I so appreciate them. Take care. ** B, Hi, man. Good, great that the salon went well. As ‘in the moment’ disappointing as a lower than hoped for turn-out can feel, that’s always the least important part, you know? You know. No, it’s going to be an extremely quiet Xmas. No plans at all other than taking bites from a Christmas buche at a certain, as yet undetermined moment of the day. Maybe a nice, long walk in what will be a uniquely deserted Paris. Enjoy whatever the vaunted day brings your way. ** Okay, Happy Xmas to each and every one one of you. See you when it’s over on Monday.