Holiday [hol-ie-dae]: a word with french-latin roots, originally arising from the Saxon "Hollus Dei" festival, centred around a bi-annual celebration of "Hollou" (things which are empty bar space and air) where a selection of 10 villagers of varied ages would repeatedly fill large wooden boxes with pointy green leaves and berries, and then empty them whilst shouting "harlow!" (interestingly, thought to be the original source of our modern common initial greeting of one another).
So what does one do whilst on a break from the regular routine dictated by little coloured boxes? Other than making up highly plausible definitions of course.
Well, if you're me, you choose a cupboard at random and make exciting clean-up discoveries. Today my cabinet of choice was the bathroom. Usually housing items such as "toothpaste", "medications" or "hair curlers", it was only natural for me to discover the following...
Exciting holiday clean-up discovery #1: Bucket of Rocks Because what is a bathroom without a an assortment of rocks?
Exciting holiday clean-up discovery #2: Five different, variously shaped, containers of talcum powder Prettttty sure some of these have been around since I was 2.
Exciting holiday clean-up discovery #3: Menagerie of plaster, shell and crocheted animals + Iwannabe Barbie(but in reality I'm a toilet roll holder) Zoos are not just for family outings. They're for bath-time too.
The houses are all the same; white brick with blue trimmings. Graffiti covers the walls, despite each property being surrounded by a razor wire fence.There is not a car to be seen, and each home is only big enough for one. Instead of the orderly winding roads of suburbia, a giant circle of houses surrounds the village green. In the centre rises a large stage, and a crowd of vaguely familiar people jostle to get to one of the many microphones positioned around. One girl finds a gap in the throng and pushes herself forward. She clears her throat. Hush rings out, as the town PA system screeches on.
“Andrea Levy – is nver dirnking aginn”.
Welcome to Facebook: where it isn’t stalking – it’s ‘networking’.
The township of Facebook has paradoxical views on security and privacy. The council has decreed that no one may visit unless they own property surrounding the green, and one may not visit others unless they get their Mines of Moria on. However, once one speaks “friend” and enters...
...It’s on like a stereo in a late model Douchemobile.
In the outside world, if you haven’t seen someone in a while, you rejoice. Or call them to catch up. Whatever. Here however, without them being any the wiser, you can stroll through their gate, enter their house, rifle through their photo albums, listen to their answering machine messages, flip through their CD collection, and peruse their address book.
You could even scribble on one of their walls. But you probably won’t.
Fun as this healthy and social activity may be, chilling alone in someone else’s house can get old pretty quickly. Long term residents know that the real action is out on the village green.
Heading outside, you pass the council workers, busy working on the next seemingly-obligatory-yet-redundant major revamp of the town. Small clusters of people eye them suspiciously, whilst talking about “the good old days”. One man declares that it is “inconceivable that the council can so blatantly ignore the public wishes in this way”. There is a hearty orchestra of responses consisting mostly of “hear hear” and “where’s our dislike button?” Towards the back, a young man determinedly tries to convince the crowd that the “the hottest kid in school will fall madly in love with you” if only they will pass on the story of a young girl who was eaten alive by an army of mutant cabbages. Failure to do so will, of course, result in a similar fate.
Needless to say he is surrounded by a gaggle of 15 year old girls, all shouting about leafy vegetables.
Further along, two girls are chatting together about what they did on the weekend. Another girl sidles up to them. They stop. There is silence.
“I LIKE THIS” the third girl blurts out, before running away. She almost knocks over two men as she flees, but they’re too busy laughing about how witty it is that they have declared their marriage to one another over the PA system to all their friends.
See, it’s funny because they’re not really married. Ha.
Off in the distance, a man is being handcuffed and placed into a squad car. Facebook keeps the grammar police busy.
Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your side. “Can’t stop to chat”, shouts a sandy haired acquaintance over his shoulder as he runs off towards his house.His door slams, and you are left alone.
