I'm angry. Deal with it.

Being angry is fun. I actively enjoy it (sometimes), although I understand that there must be consequences, as with most things. But I think getting a bit angry is good for us - wouldn't you agree? 

Wider society is impossible - on the one hand it wants us to feel empowered, express ourselves and yet we popularise some means of getting to those places and berate the exhibition of the other, less palatable means. Like anger.

The unavoidable thing is, we all have rage lurking inside us somewhere. We just do. And what is wrong with that? It's a natural emotion, just as the fluffier Love and Lust are. Life is a hot bed of drama. It's silly to think we all go around being happy and compliant all the time, how could we? We each make small compromises daily. Small compromises that build into layers and layers of anger. Imagine the cover of some warped sci-fi book. That's you. There's your anger. There's only one place for it to go if you are to survive - out. (Think Alien. Apologies for another tenuous sci-fi reference). Surely, when that time comes it's much better to unleash it and get it over with, harness that self expression and empowerment, and get back to everyday life afterwards unscarred.

When I think of anger, I often think of modern consumerism. This, it seems to me, is the one place where anger is accepted, expected even, in our culture. And it's training us how to be angry.

As we navigate ourselves more confidently in the commercial world - becoming more consumer savvy, more active - we become more confident at being angry with institutions and their representatives when things go wrong, when we feel let down as a consumer. This trains us to be angry in a controlled way. Yelling on the phone to British Gas (or some other energy company!) (although this did happen to me - I was the yeller) when they mess up your bill for the fourth time and then change your payment amount without your permission is now an acceptable thing to do (ish). They are in the wrong, and you are alerting them to that fact. Better that, surely, than grumbling sheepishly and then you end up somehow apologising to them and as a result feel even angrier about the whole thing, blowing up at your boyfriend three months later when he puts the tupperware in the wrong cupboard. 

Getting angry saves a lot of bother and frees up to time to exercise other emotions, do other things. Life's too short to keep that volcano closed for business. Plus it can be a bit fun - go on, admit it. That adrenaline release. It's like you're on a roller coaster - which you are in a way, a social one.

Of course, it's not ladylike is it? Rage. Such labelling of appropriate emotions for women is exactly the kind of thing that makes this woman, well, angry. There are clearly some of us don't seem able to manage our emotions. Obviously this is the key. I'm not recommending we all descend into abandon and give into murderous urges. But for those of us who are able to exercise a modicum of control maybe it's time to loosen that lip, come over a bit Brazilian and allow yourself to be angry for a day. It could do you some good to let the steam out the volcano.

Lighten up

I am unashamedly moved by Christmas lights. Sometimes to the point of actual tears. Lights in general, really. Street lamps casting their eerie glow in this autumnal (or should that be wintery) fog. The less subtle sugary glare of neon shop signs, arcade games and pencils that light up when you write. The pop of those fairy lights that people string around their gardens. They all provoke a reaction in me. Maybe it's part of growing up in the city. The lights signal home.

So as you can imagine, this time of year is a particularly emotional one for me. Whenever I walk past a ragged municipal pine tree in town - and there are many - there is a song in my heart. Even the most down-trodden Old Bear style trees are brought back to resplendent life with a few glowing baubles strangled around the bare branches. Ahh, lovely.

Since our city's Christmas lights got switched on ceremoniously at the end of November my heart has been going lords a leaping and bells a jingling at every corner. Just this morning I swooned at the sight of one of the Jewellery Quarter's themed lights - a man hammering some steel (or something). It took the chill right off the gale force winds that have arrived out of nowhere. My fellow commuters didn't seem cheered. If only they'd look up at the lights instead of rushing like salmon into the nearest Costa** - you can't be sad at the sight of a be-mittened waving snowman. Or a man wielding a hammer.

It's a different animal at the weekends though. Now that the Christmas-shopping-countdown has commenced I've been witnessing other grown adults reduced to fits of childish emotion out on the streets - however I've got a feeling that's less to do with joy at the lights and more stress at the checkouts....

The fizzy charm of pretty lights must touch most of us in some small way, even if we wouldn't rush to admit it. Judging by the on-steroids manner in which our suburban streets are dressed to the nines with camp glittery reindeer and acrobatic Father Christmases careering down drainpipes all over the nation - and those of us who drive around said streets specifically to ogle this spectacle - there is a real thirst for putting on a light show. It can't all be for the kids...

All those colours. Can't get enough of them. When I think about it, I've always found myself very susceptible to colour - something just switches in my brain when confronted with particular ones. Sometimes I allow my life to be dictated by colour without quite realising what's happening. (I may be sounding a bit hippy dippy now but don't worry, I'm not a wearer of mood rings or anything). I must be an advertiser's dream. They will be the first to tell you about the power of colour - cleverly manipulating it to control us. Well, our spending habits at least.

Which is why I've mixed emotions about going to see the Coca Cola truck. You know, the illuminated van from the adverts? (I was surprised to learn that the first of these was only made in 1995. I say only, although that was nearly 20 years ago...feel old) Anyway, in case you have managed to avoid the constant adverts, Coca Cola are sending their trucks on a UK tour. While I find myself rather abhorred by the idea of going to gawp at a huge multinational brand in the name of Christmas - a shameless marketing ploy, and in a shopping centre just to hammer the message home - I don't think I can resist the call of those famous lights. 

I know I'll basically be looking at a stationary lorry for a few seconds... I mean, I could do that at the back of any old takeaway any day of the week. But, oh! The childhood(ish) memories of pure unadulterated excitement when the advert came on! That catchy jingle!* I am moved to tears by the bloody thing.

Because for many people, people like me, Christmas is a consumerism thing. I recognise it is a little sad to say that, but it is nevertheless true. We were never a religious family. I'm not religious now. It was all about exchanging presents. Well, and spending time with 'loved ones', of course. But mostly the presents. So, maybe Coca Cola is my God after all... There's a thought.

One thing is for sure - as soon as I set eyes on those chirpy lights there will be tears.

*Please let me apologise to those of you who now have the 'holidays are coming' song stuck in your head. 

** I do like Costa's Xmas-themed cups though - very kitsch