Bremsbelag - Brake Lining

I know almost nothing about cars. People sit in them, press some pedals, make various lights blink and occasionally run other people over. Ask me any basic question about their inner workings or elementary maintenance and I’ll stare blankly back at you. If only I were a girl, that sort of response would be totally acceptable, but as a guy, to lack such knowledge makes me feel a woefully inadequate member of the sex. I could therefore be completely wrong in my assumption that brake lining is something car-related, which only further proves my automotive ineptitude. At a guess, I’d assume it was the seal for the fluid that, through the power of hydraulics, applies pressure to the brake disks when some compensation-seeking sponger steps into the road. This, amazingly, is remembered from one physics lesson from when I was about thirteen. I even remember my crude diagrams and green pencil crayon used to shade clumsily over the already poorly drawn lines. I could be completely wrong about this. In fact I’m sure I am. I was twelve and the pencil crayon was more deep turquoise in colour. So all comic misdirection aside, I’m not too bothered by not knowing the relevance of exhaust size to fuel consumption, or how different oils affect whatever, because it makes my bewilderment completely genuine when petrol heads bang on about that shit in my company, making them more likely to change the cock-boring subject.

Heimlich - Secret

I honest don’t have a secret stash of pornography. Perhaps that sounds like a guilty confession, that I’m denying it just a little too much, but it’s true. I find it disgusting and it clearly exploits and objectifies women in a horribly vile manner. Of course, that would be my stance were I a complete prick. It’s such a classically old counter argument, but if anyone is exploiting anyone, it’s the women themselves who get paid a ludicrous sum of money for being less or equally naked than they were at birth. Okay, so they’re also being fucked, but that’s only natural too. Okay, so they’re being told to pee on eachother and one is being directed to take a slimy turd in the other‘s mouth, and that’s a little less natural. However, the Two Girls, One Cup actors are clearly consenting adults, and were evidently paid a real shitload. Poorly construed jokes aside, the reality is I simply don’t find pornography that sexy. So many of the actresses breast ‘augmentations’ are negatively cyclical; starting off as good, getting better, looking great, looking a bit daft, looking pretty stupid, to looking vile. Also I don’t understand why guys find watching two lesbians the pinnacle of sexual fantasy when these are often the same cockends who find gayness in men so utterly revolting. I don’t object to it on any moral or other stupid grounds, and will happily watch it for comedy value, but in terms of a masturbatory aid, if I may be so crude, it’s just not worth the effort. Now, pictures of hamsters on the other hand…

Unternehmen - To Go On

I can’t wait to go on another trip. Travel is horrendously addictive, and while I enjoy my life in living the jewel of East Anglia, I just crave being away. The trouble is, the pound losing value by the penny load every day, making any trip abroad increasingly expensive as the weeks grind on. But while sterling is haemorrhaging value, travel within the UK should theoretically cost the same as it always has, or perhaps even less because more beds are left vacant as Crunch, the Credit Boogeyman scares everyone into fiscal tight fistedness. But where would I go? Good question. Thank you. Well, now that you ask, I find Northern Ireland strangely alluring. Visiting a place where just ten years ago people were getting shot and bombed all over the shop, church and pub sounds like an interesting trip. Plus they drink an awful lot over there if George Best is considered a reasonably average NI dweller. It’s one of those places, like so many I’ve been to lately, where people ask you why the hell you’d want to go there, which is quite a good reason in itself. Often the places most people have never thought of visiting are not publicised in the travel agents or advertised on TV, meaning the chances of being surrounded by idiots are substantially diminished. Plus it is in the UK, and people should see their own country before they have full licence to slag it off it to foreigners.

Uberfahrt - Crossing

Trusting drivers by default at zebra crossings will probably get your legs smashed off - it‘s only a matter of time. Generalizing massively, I can state that most drivers are selfish pricks, and care more about saving that five seconds on their journey than potentially maiming a penniless pedestrian like me. I think most people avoid accidents because they’re not great for either party; they driver gets a ban or a prison sentence, and the pedestrian gets a wheelchair or a funeral. There’s no real winners, or rather there shouldn’t be. But then compensation culture crossed the Atlantic and now we’re bombarded with adverts demanding we claim the pots and pots money that’s rightfully ours. If someone’s put you out in any way, regardless of how much a genuine accident it was, they need to pay you for it through, of course, a scumbag lawyer firm who’ve adopted a ’trading name’, such as Injury Lawyers 4 U, to cynically appeal to the working (but mostly unemployed) class. Even drivers who hit pedestrians at crossings are able to sue if they can ‘prove’ they weren’t paying attention to oncoming traffic. Which is so ludicrous you may think I’ve just made it up for this piece to shabbily prove an insubstantial point. So, unless you want to get injured, dead, or find yourself paying for the Injury Lawyers 4 U Christmas rape party (I‘m assured that‘s what they do to celebrate the festive season), always look both ways before stepping out!

Takt - Tact

There are nice, or tactful ways of making requests, broaching subjects and asserting authority, that avoid making people feel like you’ve just taken a massive shit on their duvet cover. There’s also not so nice, or tactless approaches that do just the opposite, although duvet cover could be exchanged for any household item or body part. I understand why people can be purposefully tactless, if they want to be a prick and for everyone to hate them. Demanding, for example, an employee do some demeaning task or other rather than asking politely makes them feel special, big and clever, as well as suggesting they have inadequate genitalia and/or self-esteem. It’s the people who have no idea they are being completely tactless in any circumstance that worry me. How anyone cannot think before they open their big, offensive gob that what they’re saying might actually upset someone, or piss them off entirely is beyond me. Perhaps I’m totally wrong and simply overly sympathetic, empathetic, or just plain old pathetic, but I’d like to think another person’s feelings should be considered before your own. The obvious exemption to this is comedy. I think if you’re performing standup, you have licence to say absolutely anything you want, so long as it’s funny. The people in the audience know that your set is basically an act, and so shouldn’t be taken completely seriously. It’s when serious people, seriously piss other people off with their conscious or, more worryingly unconscious disregard for tact that I start to seethe inside. Unfortunately however, I lack the ability to construct an adequately tactful approach for telling them they’re being an insufferable tosser.

Pfirsich - Peach

Millions of peaches, peaches for me. Millions of peaches, peaches for free. Although it sounds more like part of a George W Bush speech on world trade or poverty, these are actual lyrics from a band called The Presidents of the USA, and their song Peaches. That is the only song I can readily attribute to them, but it’s catchy as hell, so for me they should be spared being thrown on the awful one-hit-wonder pile. Perhaps a more appropriate lyric for the current president would be something akin to Millions for impeachment, impeachment of me. Millions for impeachment for free. Okay, that was lame, but at least slightly topical. But really, this whole intro was just a springboard to dive into the news surrounding the race to succeed W, that’s going to reach its blistering conclusion in just over two weeks time. Imagine that! Two weeks until the Bush dynasty is no more! Given it’s going to take years and years to sort out all the shit he’s done, even longer if by some anti-miracle, or rather just by plain old pessimistic inevitability, McCain beats Obama, but either way, the world should be a better place. Watching the last debate it genuinely amazed me how McCain was only behind by ten percentage points. Obama came across as the confident, commanding, eloquent and truly capable candidate, whereas McCain seemed nervous, beaten, bumbling and just hopeless. It would be more helpful for the USA in the long run if in the polling stations they instigated a simple system whereby a vote cast for McCain would result in a sectioning, delayed by twenty four hours so it doesn‘t discourage anyone else from voting that way. So therefore I’m not suggesting this is used as a fear-mongering tactic, Mugabe-style - it would have to be totally unbeknownst to everyone, including the candidates. The who point of it is that if someone turns up on polling day and votes for McCain over Obama, they are clearly mental, and should not be allowed to live amongst the general populace. And if you think this is just a crazy, crackpot idea, just think of all the assets that could be expropriated from the mentals, as well as all those extra jobs up for grabs. The US’ economic misfortune would be turned around overnight, and the rest of the world would breathe a collective sigh of relief, and maybe even scrape together a million peaches as a thank you gift to the new administration. Sorted.

Schatzung - Estimate

Estimating time is not a strength of mine. Things always seem to take far longer than I think they should. Whether this is down to an inaccurate estimation, or just my general ineptitude causing things to get held up, I’m not certain. Most people probably know by now that an Andy five minutes generally means ten. If I’m to be somewhere, meeting someone at their house or the pub, and I’ve known about it for hours and hours in advance, I still find it impossible to leave the house on time. I’ll often be ready to leave early, but for me that’s just as annoying as being late. In the back of my mind I’ll be thinking that getting there ahead of time is just a waste, and that something productive could have been achieved in those five or ten minutes. So I’ll decide to start backing up my computer system, or engage in some other not exactly pointless, but hardly pressing task that I’m convinced can be done within an Andy five minute period, inevitably causing my reputation as Mr Punctual to be substantiated further. It’s the same with my initial estimate at the start of this project - these pieces were to be written within ten minutes. Then I had to lamely issue a disclaimer stating it’s more like thirty because time was passing far too quickly. Time flies when you’re struggling to be even vaguely funny, I suppose. Which may go some way to explaining why I never finished any of my essays for written exams at A Level. Since then, I discovered that middle-aged markers don’t really find masturbation and rape jokes that hilarious. But still, picturing the look on their faces when reading about such filth brings a swift smile to my face, and that’s all that matters.

Partitur - Score

There are probably at least twenty different meaning for the word score, based on the five or six that came to mind instantly, so here is my spontaneously ill-conceived attempt at not only listing a score of score definitions, but being vaguely humorous too! For the first time, one of these writings will contain a numbered list, breaking from the traditional overly extended paragraph format. When my own ideas run dry, I’ll probably consult the internet and pass off as my own various entries, after, of course, a little thesaurus-driven editing.

1. Even though I’ve played on it already, I owe it as the inspiration for this entry: a collection of twenty things, be they years, loaves of bread, or baggies of the latest designer street drug.

2. The verb, To Score, as in a goal in football, or a point in any other game.

3. Used as a noun, related to #2, referring to the score at any time during or after the game, but never really before. Usually, pre-kick off both teams have the same score.

4. To score drugs. “Hey Nigel, I’m running a little dry on my crack, my good man. Be a gent and go score me some more from Nathan, our local dealer, don’t you know.”

5.When sexual intercourse occurs - guys will often brag to their friends about how they’re going to score on an evening. If they’re also a drug addict, a double scoring could well occur.

6. Not sure if this is spelt the same way, but to score across a bit of card or paper to make a fold easier. Doesn’t quite work as well across someone’s face.

7. A musical score - referring to sheet music. That’s notes and bars on paper, not KKK rally songs.

8. A criminal caper (such a robbery, not a felonious legume) - “Hey Nigel, I do say that what we’re planning will be quite the big score. Quite, yes.”

9. Settling a score - the sorting of out an old grudge. Or calming down a group of twenty rowdy people. Perhaps.

Well, this is where I falter. Not even half way. That’ll teach me for, well I’m not sure. But I’ve certainly learnt my lesson. Final score? It’s irrelevant - I lost. Plus I don’t really know who beat me. Myself I suppose. Either way, it’s best for everyone I stop writing immediately. Right now. Here.

An|lehnen - To Lean

Trying out a new takeaway for the first time can be a daunting prospect. You’ve just moved house across the city, have a craving for Chinese food, and found to your horror that your old place won’t deliver so far away, despite your desperate pleas and promises of extra cash. You’ve passed a few places in your new neighbourhood that smell pretty good and look at least reasonably clean, but haven’t had any recommendations. So, being quite logical and pragmatic about the whole thing, you walk to three potentials and grab a copy of their menu and have a ten-second nosy round the inside. You’ll then take this recon info back home where it can be analysed in detail. Was the person at the counter friendly? Frowning? Nonchalant? Watching X Factor? Were there pictures of Mao adorning the walls or rats scuttling across the floor? Was there anyone waiting? Any vaguely oriental-looking customers? If actual Chinese people eat Chinese food from there, it’s a good indication it might at least be authentic. With regard to the menu, price is of course a factor, but shouldn’t be definitive. Other points to consider include its look and feel. If the font is gaudy and the colours are bad, feelings of hunger can quickly turn to nausea. Spelling mistakes are not necessarily a bad thing: it could go someway to proving they are actually foreign and therefore what they cook may not consist solely of an Uncle Ben‘s stir-in sauce. On the other hand, it could just be evidence that they’re thick. Scoring all this criteria, and using a bit of maths (those orientals would be proud!), a winning establishment is selected. However, it’s still not guaranteed to be anything close to decent meal! You can choose to gamble and order some beef or duck dishes, but whenever I’ve done that, the meat has been far from lean - more a fatty, tendon-filled mouthful of guaranteed-gag. So if you’re nowhere near as anal as me, and want to skip all the other needless, speculative and borderline racist analysis, just always go for the chicken! If you can’t find one that gets that right, you’d be better off moving back to your old house, or face a depressingly bleak existence devoid of Chinese takeaway.

Gerade - Straight

Yep, I’ll get straight to the point - sexuality. What is it really all about? People get labelled as either straight or not-straight depending who they want touch when naked. Perhaps that’s a bit of crude description, but that’s essentially the deal. Apparently I’m straight because I have a thing for women, even though people call me a big gay all the time. I suspect however, this is used as a derogatory term because gayness isn’t considered massively cool, at least not in Norwich anyway. I have friend who is a boy, but certainly not my ‘boyfriend’ (as that would be gay) who likes to touch men when naked (and also while fully clothed) and so he is authentically not straight, or ‘bent’ if you want to skirt across the boundaries of political correctness. However, nobody calls him a big hetro as an insult. People just call him a big gay too. It works for girls who like girls also - although guys tend to not care so much about that, especially if the ‘lesbians’ (as they’re known) are particularly attractive. Another (boy) friend of mine really, really, really fancies one specific lesbian, which really seems about as worthwhile as having a crush on your teacher when you’re fourteen - the chances of anything ever happening are so slim, it’s just an exercise in futility. Unless of course you watch, and believe as fact the storylines of teen tosserfest, Hollyoaks. There’s also a group of people who like humans of both genders, and we call them bisexuals, or just desperate if you want to apply a tired and overused joke. I know a few such people, and I respect their honesty. I think it would be totally impossible for even the ’straightest’ of straight people to never, ever have a single even slightly gay thought, and vice versa. The labels of straight and gay are so sharp, crisp and supposedly unambiguous. Labels that have been handed down from paranoid and prejudicial ancestors who take archaic religious stances against anything other biblical heterosexual shagging - the sole purpose for which has always been to create more baby Christians, Jews or Muslims, generally to wage holy war against other baby Christians, Jews and Muslims when they all grow up. It’s high time we update our thoughts on the subject, evolve our ideas and just decide to like who we like, if and when we meet them, without the thought of possible sexuality label-change and the subsequent fear of frowning parents and peers clouding our judgement. But in a label-obsessed world, I don’t think that’s going to happen en mass any time soon! [Wow, how was that for a nuclear tonal shift!]

Unterschatzen - To Underestimate

Being something of cynic and a pessimist, underestimating the abilities of others as well as my own is quite routine. I simply cannot abide, nor could I ever be, a self-assured, arrogant dickend who struts around obliviously gathering contempt from anyone and everyone they meet. I mean if you’re going to be confident about something, keep it to yourself. Don’t shout it from the rooftops, because nobody really wants to hear it and you’re just setting yourself up for massive ridicule if you fail, or nonchalant congratulations if you succeed - nobody likes a cocky prick. Well I don’t anyway. But if you don’t build things up, if you don’t expect much from yourself or others, then you can be very pleasantly surprised when things turn out well. Vague optimism through constant pessimism, as contradictory as that sounds, is the way to go. For example, as my other recent writings suggest, I’m in the process of writing a stand-up comedy routine, which is of course a joke in itself. I’m almost certain it’s going be a complete disaster, but that doesn’t stop me from attempting to make it less disastrous by spending a lot of time writing and rewriting. I am underestimating my own ability, and expect nothing more than failure, so if by some miracle it goes okay or even well, I’ll feel better than I ever possibly could had I been just optimistic in the first place. So when people ask me if I’m confident, five minutes before I hit the microphone, I’ll respond a healthy Hell No! and just see what happens. It is definitely the same with all other aspects of life - expect complete shitness and the mental dividend for anything that turns out even fleetingly good will be tenfold. That promotion at work is never going to come, that new Coen Brothers film will disappoint you, John McCain will be the next US president, Fifty Cent will continually avoid assassination, and so on. Try it. It’s an underrated state of mind, although I won’t guarantee it working for you - in fact, I thoroughly expect it not to.

Ein|tragen - To Put Down

Having already discussed the evils of Chocolate Finger addiction in an earlier piece, I could easily write similar drivel regarding Walkers Sensations crisps or any supermarket’s own-brand packs of luxury triple chocolate cookies. They are equally impossible to put down and require an unbearable amount of willpower to not scoff the entire lot in one sitting. But instead, I’ll touch upon how easy it to put down people who clearly eat too many biscuity-crispy-cookie treats - or ridiculously fat people. Luckily, my current constitution allows the eating of almost anything in however large quantities I choose, without putting on any weight whatsoever. And I’ve tried. Yet I hover around the ten, to ten-and-a-half stone mark, and have done for the last several years regardless of what I do. So I just stopped caring and it’s not made a shred of difference. Most other people, however, eat two bags of crisps and all of a sudden they’re Rosanne Barr, or any other overweight celebrity of your choosing. These people hate me, so it seems only fair I hate them back, at least a little bit. No, I could never be such a bastard, but that doesn’t stop my desire to poke fun or put them down once in a while in a friendly, jovial kind of way. I mean nothing by it when I giggle at them waddling down the road, squeezing through passages and doorways or deciding to take that seat in a fast food restaurant window, stuffing double burgers into their cakeholes to the horror of passers-by. I get called a skinny wretch all the time, yet it’s politically incorrect for me turn that around on the massively overweight. I suppose obese people are still, if only slightly, in the minority. Perhaps after another decade of supermarkets pushing their biscuity-crispy-cookie snacks, us thin folk will cease to be the majority and fat jokes will become as inoffensive as those targeting white guys or dyslexic kangaroos. Here’s hopping anyway.

Ziehen - To Draw

I find it stupidly difficult to draw even the simplest of things to any degree of skill of accuracy besides the average kindergarten art class project. With special children. Okay, so perhaps children with disabilities may be on a slightly lower rung of that ladder, but that’s only because it’s not wheelchair accessible. If it was art-skill ramp, I’d be eating their dirt - which would make a change for them, as that‘s usually something they do. Drawing shouldn’t be that difficult: you have a perfect, infinitely high definition image right in front of your eyes or in your head. All that’s required is the transposition of that to paper via a pencil with your amazingly complex and capable hand. Yet it becomes such an impossible task! I’m glad it isn’t just me that struggles with this, and I can happily laugh at other people’s frankly shit efforts because I’d be fine with them poking fun at mine. If only everyone else shared the same self-deprecating attitude the world would be a far better place. But people get so defensive about everything - “You couldn’t do any better!” Well yeah, I know, but that doesn’t stop yours from being absolutely shit, does it? The two are mutually exclusive! My lack of skill has absolutely no bearing on yours. I have no self-confidence about almost everything I do, so I really don’t care if someone insults me or something I’ve created. Or my inability to end a piece of writing with any real sense of conclusion. Except this one of course. Any criticism will result in immediate retaliatory physical violence. You’ve been warned.

Durch - Through

Through studying hard at school, it’s very possible to land a spot in a decent university on a good course. The ultimate aim being attaining that coveted bachelors degree and a very well-paid job with wonderful career prospects and the promise of a very comfortable life. Having graduated over four years ago, my view on this have changed considerably. Now a cynic would probably point out that I’m only saying this because I haven’t got that amazingly well-paid job and all those career prospects, but to them I say a hearty fuck you. I think going to university was an essential experience less for the education, and for more for the growing up, the frugal lifestyle and the people you meet. I think so many people spend so long studying for something they’re not passionate about, with a view to entering a career that will bore the shit out of them and leave them returning home from work every night quite wealthy, but ultimately feeling empty and unfulfilled. I’m a strong believer that happiness is far, far more important in life than being rich. Once you learn to live a simple existence without the need for so much of the pointless consumerist shit, life becomes so much better! Given I’m quite happy saying this because of the UK’s amazing student loan system, whereby I only have to pay it all off once I’m earning a certain threshold - were an American graduate, I’d be utterly screwed and be forced to drop this bohemian, hippy-fuck attitude in an instant. Even I’d have a hard time justifying $100,000 of college to work as a projectionist. But generally I’m through with everyone saying stuff like “Andrew, time to get a real job!”. You know what? I’m happy and I’ll do whatever the fuck I like with my life, so piss off and get back to your stressful life working for the man, monkey boy! Meanwhile I’ll leave my movies and the office and write vaguely humorous rants about randomly-selected German-word topics. Usually for more vaguely humorous than this, I might add!

Sooft - Whenever

Whenever I turn on the news at the moment, it’s all about the global financial crisis worsening. Continually. Stock markets are plummeting, banks are becoming, well, bankrupt on a daily basis and governments are scrambling to secure the assets of their citizens. I can’t help but smile just a little bit. Personally, I have no substantial savings, no real debt besides my student loan (which frankly is probably never getting paid off), no stock portfolio, no mortgage, and collect a salary substantially less than the average university graduate. A year ago I’d have been worried about my situation, but now I’m in great financial shape. I feel somewhat impervious to whatever this ‘crisis’ throws at me! With no car, no nicotine addiction, no serious alcohol problems or other less legal fiscal sinkholes, the most I’ve felt is an extra few pounds on my weekly twenty-quid shop (big deal) and less of those horribly annoying, yet strangely alluring property shows to watch on the BBC’s daytime schedule. I’m just enjoying watching the massively rich squirming around as their million-pound retirement stocks evaporate and the sad realisation sets in that their later years are more likely to be spent in Brighton than Bermuda.

Dauernd - Lasting

The effects of alcohol abuse can be terrible and long-lasting. Messed up liver, prison for the almost inevitable domestic abuse, and homelessness due to lack of cash directed at anything other than a liquid diet of booze and possibly Cuppa Soup. I never quite understand how people can get addicted to alcohol. I’m not going to debate with medical professionals who can prove it’s a drug that is physically addictive. I’m sure whatever they tell us is based on sound research - unlike the totally fraudulent stuff that constituted most of my GCSE, A-Level and university coursework. I enjoy drinking but only to a certain point; once you get beyond tipsy and start to loose control, it ceases to be fun and becomes something far more sinister. Also you know you’re in for an absolutely horrific hangover day where you’ll have an unbearably pounding head and be puking up nothingness by the bucket load. I just can’t be bothered with that any more. The only reason to drink beyond the merry and tipsy stage is for the enjoyment of others, and if that’s your aim at the start of any given night out, you’re in trouble from the get-go. On a rare occasion I will just throw caution to the wind and decide to drink to excess, but that’s often only because I’ve not been violently sick for several months and because I know I’m not an angry or violent drunk - I just get a little more stupid and sometimes slightly more funny. Still, the next morning I do regret it, which is probably the vicious circle in which actual alcoholics find themselves ensnared. The regret leads to more drink which leads to more regret and so on and so. To break the cycle can’t be very easy, but I’d suggest directing that powerful regretful emotion into something more positive - I’m currently too pissed to think of anything that useful or even a bit funny, but there must be something. I’d conduct some research, but I’d only make up the results anyway so it’d be a bit pointless.

Nebenkosten - Extra Changes

Editing can be addictive. Continually making extra changes can ruin what was an originally good piece of writing. The first draft can sometimes be so pure it needs no work whatsoever, but still the temptation to comb through it again and again can be great, but potentially destructive. That’s why for this article, regardless of how badly it turns out, I’m not going to change a single thing. At all. Except that - I wrote “Aat all” originally, and that would just be silly. It perhaps would have had helped to have a better idea initially, but there’s no turning back now! Clearly I’m not one for taking my own advice though. I’m in the process of writing my very first stand up comedy routine and I’m utterly terrified. It’s imperative the jokes I choose to perform really hit home and are the funniest they possibly can be, utilizing the most succinct adjectives and comically apt nouns. But that’s just the half of it! I have to work out the tone of voice, the pace of delivery, the comic timing and general stage posture and microphone technique. I’m not one for self-confidence or arrogance, but I’m almost certain I’m funnier than at least half of the regular performers at the night I’ll make my debut five minutes, but that’s irrelevant if the delivery goes fully tits-up. So continually making extra changes, combing through and fine-tuning my material is basically what I’ll be doing for the next two weeks, and while I am very aware it could kill the jokes, it’s better than being under prepared and having massive regrets. I hope. Otherwise I’ll, for years to come, totally regret making those two weeks of extra changes.

Geschenk - Present, Gift

Whenever a gift is required by default for a set occasion, it’s always so much harder to choose something worthwhile, something that will truly be appreciated. Birthdays and Christmas, where people get gifts for absolutely no reason other than they themselves, or the son of a supernatural entity being born on a specific day, are always so difficult to buy for - especially if you’re a present-purchasing-procrastinator. I often find myself wandering the city streets on the day before, or literally at the last minute before closing on Christmas Eve trying to find something that isn’t a book voucher or the latest bland CD from the year’s hottest insipid singer-songwriter. Inevitably, those are the items I go home with. It’s not that I don’t care about the people I’m buying for, I suppose it’s just a problem with them deserving presents for doing absolutely nothing, besides existing, which in Jesus’ case is still subject to debate. It’s much better when you’re browsing the shops and see something you think will really make someone smile or have at least hold some small significance and you impart a gift when it’s not expected. Given, you have to be careful it’s not misconstrued as a bribe or an attempt to get into their pants - especially with children, but generally it’s a lot better for everyone involved. They’ve received a present out of the blue and cannot help but feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, unless of course they’re a complete bastard. You can feel like a good, kind-hearted person for a while at least, before you go back to stamping and kittens or spitting on old people.