Ghosts of Christmasses Pasts

Were the ghost of Marley to visit me in the night to deliver one of his pre-Christmas 'change your ways' diatribes, I think I have a fair idea of what he'd be banging on about.

'Ben, you've given up on life', he'd say. 'You used to be so productive and creative. You'd come up with delicious recipes and share them with the world. You expressed opinions on food and drink in a pithy and engaging fashion with a uniquely quirky turn of phrase, bringing mild amusement to literally tens of people. Why did you stop, Ben? Why?'

And he'd probably have a point. 

 

Kill the Influencers

The truth is that I've been somewhat disillusioned with this lark for a while. The demand these days all seems to be for short-form TikTok/Insta-type vapidity, and given that I'm never ever fucking off down that road, the only alternative would be to reinvent myself as a YouTuber. And that would necessitate a lot of time, effort and equipment, at least to achieve the standards and production values upon which I would invariably insist.

So, yeah, things have gone to shit. But while we're here and there's still a few people reading actual words, let's try to be vaguely festive by revisiting a few bits and pieces from the BV archives. Yeah, it's like one of those Christmas compilation albums that doesn't even have Reindeer Love on it.

Very Fucking Festive

I started this wee bloggette back in 2010, and that very Christmas I wrote about cheese and beer and Irish Cream liqueurs. I enthused effusively about the wares of Borough Market, which may well have made me the inspiration for Foodie Bollocks in Viz. If so, I'll wear the badge with pride.

In the New Year I came up with a recipe for Mulled White Wine, something that never took off, but which I really need to try again because it worked surprisingly well.  

By Christmas 2011 I was turning out copy pretty prolifically, at least by my standards. I came up with recipes for a fairly radical beef stew with cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves, as well as my take on egg nog. 

Twelve years ago I ranted about 'German' Christmas markets - fountains of Teutonic underwhelm which are, sadly, as ubiquitous now as they ever were.

In December 2013 you got a Wintersmith cocktail, which I'd hoped might make me a cult figure amongst Terry Pratchett fans, but they already had Pratchett himself, I guess. 

By 2016 I was probably starting to lose my enthusiasm a bit. But, hey, Christmas biscuits. You can't go wrong with them fuckers.

One of the things that I've noticed in my 40-odd years is that sometimes when you think things have hit rock bottom, they can actually get a bit worse. A good case in point is the actual quality of 'Quality' Street. Six years ago, I remarked on their decline, but, by the very Nativity of the Christ-child, they are even more rubbishcunt now.

By December 2021 life had ceased to be worth living, so I came up with a recipe to clog everyones arteries once and for all - a five cheese carbonara. 

And then, nothing. I didn't bother penning anything especially for the festive season in subsequent years. And nobody came up to me and asked me why I hadn't bothered penning anything especially for the festive season. 

There was no ghost of Marley, so here we are.

Anyway, you have a Merry Christmas and I'll try to blog a little bit more in 2025 to see if anybody still reads the fucker!