Will I Ever Be Able To Find It Again?

Hello viewers.

It has come to my attention, over the last few years, that I have lost something. Something special, something treasured and something, dare I say it? Magical. I think I first noticed its demise in my teenage years and as my teens were such a long time ago, I'm not sure that I will ever find it again.

What on earth I am wittering on about I here you cry?

I am talking about that magical internal flutter you get when Christmas comes around. The childlike excitement of not knowing the contents of a carefully wrapped present. That dizzying spin as you survey the sideboard and the coffee table groaning under the weight of nuts, fruit and chocolate. The ruddy glow as you come in from the crisp winter cold, to be met by twinkling fairy lights, tinsel and baubles.

These things still happen, but they seem to have lost that innocence of youth, the sparkle of enthusiasm and that real feeling of Christmas magic.

Now don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, it is my most favourite time of year. Family and friends united as one, to bring festive cheer and to argue over the remote control. However, as an adult with a family you end up hosting Christmas and spend more time making Christmas, than actually feeling Christmassy. Is the turkey on? When do the spuds go in? Can you get auntie a sherry? Where's nanny's present? Have I missed Noel Edmonds? When you finally get chance to sit down, there's only a moment to sip a Baileys and scoff a mince pie, whilst watching the last part of one of the Vicar of Dibley Christmas specials, once again being repeated, before you're up again and making turkey sandwiches.

Which is fine, that's OK. These things are intrinsically linked to Christmas now in adult life. You have friends and family round and you do feel special, giving gifts and filling their hearts with Christmas cheer and their bellies with the duty free gin you bought on the way back from your summer holidays.

What I'm missing is those moments that genuinely make you jump up and down with excitement, that uncontrollable feeling that you will explode with joy. Those moments after the wrapping paper has been torn off in a festive fury and you reach the bundles of joy below. Exciting gifts, amazing toys, games to keep you occupied for hours, or the latest annual from your favourite television show. For me that was the Blue Peter annual. It was the Action Man toys; the helicopter, the amoured car, the hangglider, the parachute. What a great few years they were, their memories still implanted deep in my psyche.

Sadly those days are long gone. Nowadays it is practical gifts, books, DVDs and aftershave or worse still; socks!

I do try to keep the Christmas spirit high. I will always read Charles Dicken's 1843 classic A Christmas Carol, I will always watch at least one of the film versions of  A Christmas Carol and we will always watch Christmas films. I insist on going to church for the Sunday carol service followed by mulled wine and mince pies. And I will always put up the Christmas decorations sufficiently early to ensure we get the most pleasure from them. I do try to replicate the Christmases of years ago.

However, even doing all these things, I find myself still missing that wonderful magical innocence from my youth, you know the feeling deep inside of excitement, joy and apprehension. 

Is it just me?

I guess it isn't, but I also guess that this is a part of adult life, your head is full of other worries, those constant day-to-day things that you need to worry about; where will everyone sleep? Who is visiting who and when? Can I have a drink or do I need to drive? When do we go food shopping? Have we got enough of everything? Have we forgotten something?

I surmise that the times of innocence have flown and the only way to get them back would to fabricate a Christmas in a hotel, where all the day-to-day worries would be taken care of, but could you capture that sparkling magic again, I don't know. What I do know is, I will keep trying year on year to replicate the magic of Christmas for my family and those around me and see if I can hit upon a formula to recalculate the magic and ensure that the message of Christmas, its foundation and origin is promoted and how its organic growth over the years is continued to be nurtured so that future generations can enjoy that special childlike innocence that I remember from all those years ago.

It only leaves me to wish a very Merry Christmas to you all and hope that the magic of the season brings a little cheer into your heart.

Our Italian Holiday - Part 2

Day 4

Not for the first time whilst in Italy, we woke up to rain. It’s unusual to have rain in Italy in August, especially around the lakes and mountains, so it did dampen our spirits somewhat and we ended up reading in our hotel room, rather than enjoying the views.

Luckily the weather brightened, as the sun burnt off the clouds and by lunchtime we had glorious sunshine, which is a good thing, as we had organised the short boat trip across the lake to the small village of Bellagio, which is directly opposite to Cadenabbia. The boat trip was free, another plus point and we were to board at the side of the floating pool. Whilst we were waiting a young couple arrived, to say they were big would be unkind. Unkind, but true. They were so big in fact that the shallow end of the floating pool, had got just a tad shallower!

Obviously, I was concerned that if they were to get into our boat, with me there as well,  there would be risk of a capsize! It transpires that they had hired their own boat and were off together to navigate the lake. Good luck I thought.

Bellagio was indeed very picturesque, with more shops and restaurants than Cadenabbia, but looking back across the water, I couldn’t help but notice the similarity between the two villages, the same colours, similar styles of churches, small bell towers, large villa’s and grand hotels. In fact dotted around the coast of Lake Como are very similar places, all with the same styles of architecture, very pretty, very quaint and beautiful to view in the Italian sunshine.

We spent a few hours wandering the narrow streets of Bellagio, exploring the stepped walkways that led up through the buildings. Plenty of photographs were taken that day.

After we returned to the hotel, we changed for supper and availed ourselves of the restaurant facilities. There’s something about an all-inclusive package and no will power that creates an expanding waistline! The restaurant was the typical buffet affair, where you walk in and find a table. Then one of you waits at the table, whilst the others make their selection. It’s just a constant bustle as people are up and down with platefuls of food.

After supper, we could hear the strains of Eduardo and his Bontempi organ firing up in the bar below, so we thought we should retire to the floating pool bar for some more sophisticated entertainment . After a time the outside bar got a little chilly for the ladies, so we retired the hotel lounge to play cards. What? It was either that or face the Royal British Legion crowd, down in the bar, enjoying Eduardo singing all the hits. I say hits. Clearly Eduardo knew his demographic and was rolling out the big numbers for the crowd, all sung in English with a strong Italian accent. Begin The Beguine, Spanish Eyes, It’s Now or Never. The pensioners lapped it up! They were up dancing to Eduardo, who was perched with his large organ, on a small platform. It’s an incredible sight, old dears swaying gently on their replacement hips, whilst Eduardo deftly selecting the correct rhythms, or not as the case maybe. The correct rhythm being Bossa Nova or nothing!

Unbeknownst to us, we were in for a treat later in the holiday, as Eduardo’s younger brother; Fabio was to take over. I can’t wait!

Roll on Day 5, let’s have some more culture.

Day 5

Another trip day, but this was only a half day affair, so we chilled by the lido pool for the morning, topping up our tans / sunburn and reading.

After lunch we again waited on the side of the floating pool, as this trip was by boat, a quick tour of the lake before we berthed at Villa del Balbianello a stunningly beautiful villa, built on the side of a small peninsula, which juts out into Lake Como, near to Lenno. This villa has a varied history, finally being owned by esteemed Italian explorer and mountain climber Count Guido Monzino, who died in 1988 and donated the villa to the FAI (Fondo per l'Ambiente Italiano), which is the Italian equivalent of the National Trust.

Who says these blog’s aren’t educational?

Again, like so many of the villas and buildings surrounding Lake Como, Villa del Balbianello is beautiful and intriguing. Built on five levels, there are secret passages and stairs hidden behind panels all over the building.

Whilst we were going around, being expertly guided by our tour guide, we were taking photographs as she described the rooms. After about the third room, the guide suddenly remembered;

“pleezee, no photogaphas, sorree, sorree, I forgotta to saya, no cameras insider the villa. Unless you paya 3 Euro’s”.

Cameras were quickly hidden. Of course we did what most people would do in this situation and hang around in the room until everybody had moved on and take a few sneaky pic’s!

After a time in the villa and the outstanding gardens, the boat returned to take us back to our hotel. It was amazing to watch the bright sunshine reflecting off the ripples on the lake, like a myriad of paparazzi flash bulbs going off. Like so many things we saw in Italy, very, very beautiful.

So another great day, rounded off with a nice supper, followed by a walk to the next village along the coast which is Tremezzo. After walking off supper, we returned to the pool bar for another drink or three *waves gold wristband*!

Roll on Day 6, let’s have some more sun.

Day 6

Woke up to rain. Again! This time it looked set for the day. As today was supposed to be a chill day for us, due to the rain, there was going to be no lying out by the pool, so we bought a day ticket for the resort train that runs a 5km route up and down the coast of Lake Como, from Lenno (where Villa del Balbianello is) in the south to Menaggio in the north. We got off at Menaggio first, which was just like a wet weekend in Weston! The highlight was to find the post office so we could send a postcard. See? Old habits are the best ones.

After an hour wandering around in the drizzle, we took the next train back to Cadenabbia and the hotel for a spot of lunch. Then we took the train again, this time down to Lenno. The weather had brightened up by this time and we again wandered around the streets, taking in the views. Again there were very few shops, just a few hotels and the obligatory gift shop, for those of you who need to get more tea towels and fridge magnets!

We took the train back to hotel, but as it was still early, we deposited our daughter in her room, to charge up her various gadgets and Mrs Dave and I took off for a walk, this time heading in land and up the steep steps that led away up the side of the hotel into village of Griante which is nestled into the hillside. We passed three or four churches on our circulatory route, the Italians certainly like their churches. Again, very beautiful and stunning views from the mountain down to the lake.

We stuffed ourselves silly at the ubiquitous buffet supper again and retired to the terrace for a drink. We had to venture into the downstairs bar to fetch drinks, which was full of the oldies bopping away to a different style of entertainment tonight, for tonight Fabio; Eduardo’s younger brother had taken to the podium. It was a joy to behold, I stood there open mouthed as he ran through his selection of ”get up and dance” numbers; Is This the Way to Amarillo? YMCA. All the hits!

Again, all sung terribly in English, with an Italian accent, which is just beyond description. For me the best part was when Fabio was belting out YMCA, he took his hands from the keyboard to do the actions and the music kept playing! What a talent. Of course the old ladies, who had enjoyed a sherry or two were up frantically trying to keep in time with the Y M C and A arm actions, without getting a rupture or worse.

Roll on Day 7, time for another trip.

Day 7

Well the weather was overcast for our early start, we had to be outside of the hotel by 8pm, so an early breakfast was on the cards and as the hot breakfast didn’t start until 8am, we had to make do with ham, cheese and croissants, plus toast of course and as it was early there wasn’t many people hanging around the industrial sized toaster, that used to produce toast in varying shades of brown, dependant on how many times you popped you bread back through the machine. I avoided it; I don’t like the early morning conversation around the toaster, as you wait for your toast to reappear.

Today’s trip was to Milan, with a tour of the historic sights followed by some free time to sample the designer shops. Oh what fun!! (Said in a sarcastic tone).

We stopped at the San Siro stadium, home of Inter and AC Milan. That was exciting. (Said in a sarcastic tone. Again). What was more spectacular was the entrance to the San Siro horse racing track across the road, where a 24 foot high bronze statue of a horse stands. Built 500 years after it was first designed by Leonardo da Vinci.

The centre of Milan, where the cathedral stands (Duomo di Milano) is stunning. The cathedral is very impressive, the 5^th largest in the world and the architecture of the surrounding buildings is superb, but Milan itself seemed to be a bit drab, although it is currently going through a facelift for an up and coming expo. We took a look inside the cathedral, taking in the amazing vastness of its interior. From there we went to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II which is a big shopping mall, housing the designer shops like Prada etc. Going through the Galleria you came out opposite the La Scala Opera house. Another photo opportunity.

We then visited a department store, the Milan equivalent of Harrods (just to use the toilets!) but to get to them on the top floor, you had to traverse floor upon floor of overpriced women’s clothing! All from designer labels. Boring!

A brief stop at Sforza Castle and we were back on the bus and back to the hotel.

Roll on Day 8; home time!

Day 8

Day 8, our last day in Italy was really a nothing day, having had breakfast and finished packing and then checking out, we had 6 hours to kill before our transfer to the airport arrived. We whiled away this time out by the floating pool, catching the glorious Italian sun and taking one last dip in the pool. Obviously being the last day and we had checked out, we had to carry out the most English of rituals, “checking the cases”. They were left in the lobby, but as there were several airport transfers that day, I didn’t want some sweaty overzealous coach driver lobbing our cases into the coach, carrying passengers for the next flight back to Manchester!

Although we had checked out, we still maintained our gold wristbands, so availed ourselves of the hotel restaurant and had a big lunch to last the rest of the day. We took the opportunity to say goodbye to waiters, who had looked after us so well all week. “Buongiorno” they would say and Mrs Dave, whose grasp on languages is good, but she gets flustered easily, would reply with a cheery “Bonjela”!

And there we have it, another holiday done. I hope you enjoy reading these blogs as much as I enjoy writing them. I only really do them so that I can actually remember what we have done and where we have been!!

Until next time, buonasera.

Our Italian Holiday - Part 1

Day 1

Well, it is not quite Day 1 as we only arrived at the hotel at about 9:30 in the evening. The good thing about arriving late, for the hotel at least, you don’t get to see the hotel in daylight and suddenly decide to change your mind, you’re here at Stalag 17 and that’s it!
To be fair, the rooms were adequate, well our double room was fine, our daughter ended up in a broom cupboard with an en-suite.
As we were all-inclusive, supper was laid on, I say supper………. actually it was the cold buffet items left over from supper which had finished at 9pm, left on the side for us. There was a selection of cold pasta with bits in, cold rice with bits in, some cheese of indeterminable origin and some cold meat that was sweating more than a 1970’s entertainer having his laptop serviced at PC World.

Waving this inconvenience aside we headed along with our gold wristbands, yes gold for all of you sat there with your standard “local beers and wine” silver bands, down to the bar. I say bar, if I was to describe it as a northern English town’s branch of the Royal British Legion, on a half-price bingo night, you would get the picture.

Now it was clear what demographic this hotel attracted; the retired, semi-retired, or those thinking of retiring English couples. Of this demographic, there seemed to be three main groups; the over seventies, those of whom who were no stranger to National Service. There was clipped moustaches and shiny shoes everywhere, or those who were happy to drink a whisky or two into the wee small hours, i.e. past 10pm, but still be up at 6:00am with a Reveille of a fart and the sound of Ethel’s teeth being sucked into place.
There was the over 60’s, who were well worn travellers, but had settled into the routine of booking holidays with the same tour company, because “they are always so nice and good value. I especially like their Turkey and Tinsel holidays at Christmas, you can’t beat ‘em!”
And then there are the over 50’s, with a variable background but essentially couples where the husband is a rotund jovial character and the wife tries a bit too hard in the clothes and make-up department. There was one couple who were clearly in this category, she enjoyed many an outfit picked from the finest mail order catalogue; “easy terms £1.27 a week for 52 weeks”. However, I’m not sure who told her the more sparkly faux gems on it the better. They both had clearly either been serial holiday makers, or had spent a small fortune building up the holiday look at the local “Tan-tastic”. More of this couple later.

The problem is, “we” find ourselves slipping slowly into the compartmentalised holiday demographic, it’s only the fact we have a teenage daughter that keeps us safe. For now.

It was on this first night that we met up with our first “friends” of the holiday; Alan and Jackie. Alan was semi-retired and Jackie had been made redundant and was quite happy with the fact. She was also very pissed, having discovered the delights of no optics and the Italian measure of spirits, which is half fill the glass with ice, cover all the ice with the spirit of choice and top up with a mixer. Jackie had clearly had a couple of these and was now hugging everyone and everything in sight. Mrs Dave, who seems to attract nutters like flies around an effluent pipe, trailed back into the bar, after a brief sojourn to check the Italian air, with Jackie almost conger-style in tow with an apologetic Alan following behind. To be fair, they were rather nice, friendly and always up for a chat, unlike the Germans!

Roll on Day 2, let’s have some proper holiday!


Day 2

Time to redress the balance and add some gravitas to this blog, on Thursday morning, we threw back the curtains and were hit back the most tremendous vista. Stepping out onto our terrace, (not a balcony as paid for, but a shared terrace, refund request has been sent), we saw the most amazing sight, the sun shining gently off the lake, flashing early morning brilliance all around. On the far side of the lake, nestled into the mountains were small terracotta clad villages, with quaint tiled roofs, small churches and bell towers. Basic colours of beige and terracotta repeated across a background of dark green hues, sandwiched sweetly between clear blue skies with floating mountain mist and a reflective shimmering lake offering beautiful views with every morning blink. Stunning.

For us today was to be a relaxing day, no planned excursions and as the weather was perfect for the swimming pool, that's where we headed. We had a choice of two pools; one was the Lido which was a pool (swimming caps must be worn!) nestled next to a bar and restaurant, with sun beds all around. The other pool was the ‘floating pool’ and ingenious affair, the size of 3 or 4 tennis courts, moored securely to the wall but essentially floating on the lake. In the middle of this huge pontoon was a full-size swimming pool. Excellent idea, but it did take some getting used to as it used to bob around with each passing boat and you would have sea legs for hours afterwards.

After lunch, we decided to take in the ambiance around the pool at the lido and very relaxing it was too. Unfortunately, I fell into that holiday trap of enjoying the sunbed, the gentle sound of waves lapping all around and the warm summer sun just a little too much and fell sound asleep, only to be awoken from a rather large guttural snore that managed to wake me up and send a fit of giggles through the German lady lying next to me, who seemed to intimate, via sign language, that it’s what her husband did as well. Unfortunately the downside to relaxing so much in the sun, is that a few hours later, after the pre-supper shower, you find you are redder than a butchers apron! Ouch.

However, falling asleep in the afternoon and not caring about the consequences, does mean at the very least that you are relaxing, that or too much white wine was drunk at lunchtime!

Roll on Day3, let’s go on a trip.


Day 3

Today was the first of our trip days; we were off over the Alps to St. Moritz, via the Bernina Express railway, starting at Poschiva and ending up at St. Moritz. If you ever get the chance to go on this railway, then do it, the views, if you are lucky with cloud cover, are stunning.
We set off early from the hotel, in the dutiful care of Alexandria; our guide for the day. To be fair, she was very knowledgeable and funny, but she wouldn’t shut up for hours! Her husband must send her out to work for a rest and there must be a load of three legged donkeys grazing in the mountains surrounding Cadenabbia. After what seemed like a lifetime on the coach, suffering from Tour Guide overdose, we arrived at the Swiss town of Poschiva, where we stopped for a quick coffee and waited for our train to arrive. I cannot do justice in words to the railway, you have to see it to believe it, how it winds itself around and about the Alps, gaining height all the time is magical and an engineering wonder. Its highest point is 2328m at Ospizio, a strange place to find a railway station, but there’s one there! Take the opportunity to Google this railway, if you like railways and Swiss precision, then you’ll love this.

After the Bernina Railway, St. Moritz was a bit of a let-down. It is only a small town, but it has a big  reputation which belies its size. Having said that, the views were stunning; beautiful Alpen scenery, majestic lakes and fantastic buildings in the town. Very chic, very up market and designer shops by the dozen.

One thing I noticed on this trip, was the English style of queuing. Generally speaking, the English enjoy a good queue and will form a line at the drop of a hat. However, there seems to be a special breed of queue’r for coach holidays; the ones that are determined to get the front seats! Normally, with allocated seating, you sit where you are told, but our trips were a free for all and there was one couple that had got the art of the queue down to a fine art. The same couple I mentioned earlier, the bronzed rotund husband, who liked to keep himself smart, if you class heavy gold neckwear and rings as smart, along with his trophy wife, who sparkled more than a fistful of fireworks on bonfire night. At the beginning of the trip, they were at the front door of the hotel waiting, they must have been queuing for breakfast as well. And at each stop, they were always first at the pickup point when we had to resume the journey. They had to do this, as horror of horror, some people on the coach had taken to moving seats after a stop!! This really threw the coach out of kilter! It’s an unwritten rule in English coach etiquette to ensure you maintain your seat position at all times. This did not happen and there was some furrowed brows, some hard stares and mumbles floating around the coach, as disgruntled passengers amended their seating positions. However, the pain soon eased off, as Alexandria went into a new hour-long speech about Italian food and folklore, causing the disgruntled few to be just gruntled and fall asleep.

The highlight of the return trip was a visit to the quaint Italian municipality of Chiavenna and then the trip down the Maloja Pass; a series of 13 hairpin bends that in a car would be quite adventurous, but in a 52 seater coach was mental! Again, more stunning scenery and beautiful vista’s. A great day out.

Back at the hotel, a hearty supper was had and we retired to the pool bar across the road, which was quiet, with lovely lake views. The alternative was the hotel bar, but this would be overrun by OAP’s supping their drinks through plastic teeth, whilst swapping stories of the old days, when things were really bad. Unfortunately they could not do this quietly, as half of them were deaf, so it was just a cacophony of rattling dentures, slurping Baileys and whistling of hearing aids. And don’t get me started on Eduardo and his bloody Bontempi organ! Live entertainment? I think not. More of that later.

Roll on Day 4, let’s have a rest.

To be continued.

Social Anomalies

I'm not sure if it was just bad luck or the Jeremy Kyle Roadshow had just hit town, but I managed to come across more than my fair share of social anomalies the other day. By social anomalies I mean, and not wishing to be overtly rude, people who were, shall we say, in varying degrees, a few fluid ounces short of a full pint. Now each to their own and all that. It takes all sorts to weave this rich tapestry that we call life, but people please, let’s employ a modicum of common sense.

Firstly I saw a young lady who was clearly no stranger to the inside of Greggs. Now there’s nothing wrong with that per se, big can be beautiful, but I think I missed the Paris Fashion Week where cerise leggings matched with an egg stained hoodie became à la mode. So her fashion sense was not what you would call first rate, unfortunately her common sense matched her fashion sense. She nonchalantly sparked up a cigarette oblivious to the sign on the wall behind her that said; “SMOKE FREE ZONE”. Admittedly she may not have seen it, but it was purple and the size of the aforementioned pasty shop.

Luckily, she had a gallant and noble boyfriend who seeing that she was cold offered her his coat. Such a beautiful moment, marred slightly by the vision of him, now shivering in a vest, tracky bottoms and a baseball cap. Ah, young love.

All the time this was going on we were being entertained by a woman with a mobile phone stuck to her ear wandering up and down ranting away. I suppose it was entertaining whilst waiting for the bus, but we only heard half the conversation as she paraded up and down, beguiling us with half a story delivered by the Doppler Effect.

Now during my meander home I have to cross the railway tracks and it seems that my walk home is synchronised with passing trains as I always end up on the wrong side of the descending barriers. However, the flashing lights and wailing klaxon was not going to prevent the next Darwin Award nominee from getting across the railway line. This young gene pool degenerate was walking in front of me when the amber warning lights went off, he clearly had made his mind up to go for it and run the gauntlet of flashing lights, sirens, gates and trains, even though Usain Bolt with a tailwind would not have got there before the barriers started to fall. It was the look of surprise on his face as he was almost permanently silenced via the medium of decapitation by the descending barriers that tickled me. However, he swerved neatly to avoid the barriers and ran through just about unscathed. If the trains ever run on time he might not be so lucky.

Some of these social anomalies have mastered the art of cycling. However, as was evident from the specimen that rode towards the level crossing, it’s really hard to cycle, send a text and avoid parked cars all at the same time. It was a wonder he didn’t fall off, as he somehow swerved around the cars, put in his phone in his pocket and used the now descended level crossing gates to bring himself to an abrupt stop. I almost applauded, if it wasn’t for the fact that he completed his cycling acrobatics with a manual evacuation of his left nostril, by applying a finger to his right one and blowing hard. Two words; dirty and bastard.

I know I sound like an old snob, but these are the people who will be taking over this planet.

God help us.

Happy Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day in the UK. An annual celebration of our Mother's and their place in our hearts. All very lovely, commendable and nice.

To me Mother's Day is all about handmade cards and daffodils, these seem to symbolise what Mother's Day was like for me. Pasta shapes stuck to a card with copious amounts of PVA glue and covered in glitter. Bunches of daffodils from the local florist or picked from the garden, or picked from someone else's garden if you came from a poor background like me. 

But how things have changed.

Now it seems to be that social networking has stolen the innocence of Mother's Day away. It now seems like there is a strong desire for people to rush to Facebook and extol the virtues of their mothers on there. Again, this can be viewed as lovely, commendable and nice, if you are posting on your mother's wall and she is actually on Facebook to reply.

My mother has no concept of Facebook, my mother had no concept of Facebook when she was alive! So I have no desire to run to the social networking sites and literally shout "Happy Mother's Day!" to my long dead mother who has no internet connection or WiFi enabled headstone!

But people do this and I for one cannot fully understand it. That may seem harsh, but I think it says more about the person posting the comments, than it does about the dead relative. To me it says; "look at me, how righteous am I? I'm remembering my dead relative by posting a status on Facebook".

I guess we have been doing this kind of thing for years, by posting a memorial tribute in the local paper, but even that I feel is a tad morbid, for me the connection between myself and my mother, especially on days like today is purely spiritual. There's no physical entity left, so to have a physical conversation, via whatever medium; Facebook, newspaper etc. is meaningless. I would say you really only need to have thoughts of remembrance and send those thoughts into the nothingness of space and so if there is any spiritual ethernet, those thoughts will travel to your dearly departed and the job is done. There's no requirement to broadcast your message to everyone on your timeline. Instead keep those messages special, meaningful and targeted via thoughts alone.

Does my opinion make me a bad person? I hope not. I fully understand the need to grieve the loss of your parents, I have lost both of mine and I still miss them, but I don't run to the hills with a billboard shouting it, or post great swathes of sadness on Facebook or wherever. I send them my best wishes by thought alone. Surely that's enough?

These are just my thoughts. Feel free to have yours.