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Xmas 99

Concrete Wednesday, December 1, 1999

Commercialism has rocked Santa's grotto this year.. Well Norwich at least. Concrete sent A/ex McGregor out into the city centre to investigate the overpriced goods on offer... f you still haven't bought your Christmas presents, don't fret. Toys R Us have a million ideas all under one roof. Good God, it's the end of November, the goose is only slightly portly, and these corporate vampires expect me to have already purchased my Christmas goodies. They're a bit keen aren't they? You don't often see this kind of enthusiasm for other events of a family nature. You don't name the baby before you've got a girlfriend, do you? Funeral Services don't have a database whereby they know the ages of all the people living in the area, do they? They don't tour the streets knocking on these pensioner's doors and wanting to sell them plots of land , do they? That would be unconscionable, wouldn 't it? Oh , but not as far as Christmas is concerned. So my brief was thus illuminated to me and appeared to be one of gracious simplicity: expose Christmas shopping for the vacuous, hollow, self serving and frankly depressing experience that it truly is. My first port of call was Tesco. After all, how often are we out performing our


mundane, everyday, Prozac activities like shopping when suddenly an immeasurably appropriate gift is found? That's right, never. Especially if you happen to be shopping in Tesco. For example , Tesco are selling an advent calander with Nestle chocolate and Disney pictures . What an explosive combination , the two

most evil conglomerates on the face of the planet, who swarm over weaker, lesser developed nations like a plague of biblical locust, have now teamed up. To help conjure a more visceral image within one's head, this is much like Gengis (Nestle)

"How can you spend £45 on Body Shop foot cream for the one you love? I would like to think I love them enough not to bring attention to their multiple foot diseases" forming a quasi-sexual, military alliance with Hitler (Disney). Apart from the dire political ramifications this pact contains, they've also priced it at £4.99. Considering that the chocolate contained within the Advent Calendar actually weighs less than two Fruit and Nut bars, if you buy this calendar you will be paying at least £4.27 over the odds. The second gift idea

that was brought to my attention during my little jaunty around Tesco's was the Tesco Christmas Breakfast Tray Set. What an appalling gift to buy somebody, spewed straight from the anal glands of satan. My God , how could you possibly justify buying someone a breakfast tray set, least of all one from Tesco (although the

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addition of the blue and white 'value' stripes would have improved the set immeasurably). "Happy Christmas, dear. I love you so much that I bought you a Tesco Breakfast Tray Set. Now you can make me breakfast in bed every day." This is the stuff of which divorces are made. And to add insult to injury the damn thing costs £35. I left Tesco thinking that surely I had scraped the bottom of the barrel, but no, the worst was yet to come. I next popped into the Body Shop where I saw a Christmas package named Oceano which consisted of nothing but an assortment of foot creams all for the low, low price of £45. Now, while the gift set looked very nice one can't help but think that if I loved someone enough to spend £45, (bearing in mind I am in the thral l of my student overdraft) I would also like to think that I love them enough not to draw attention to their disgusting multiple foot diseases. That's just rude. With the light of these revelations in my mind I decided to abandon the entire idea of searching The Body Shop and headed off towards Jarrolds. Which was another colossal mistake - not as big a mistake as faking an unnecessary alibi in a libel case, say, but a pretty big mistake all the same. irst up I notice the Obi Wan Kenobi action figures which cost a terrifying £19.99. What exacerbated this to the point of absurdity was that there were at least three different Obi Wan figures. Obviously the brats of Norwich will want all three and their poor parents will have to acquiesce or feel the intolerable burden of guilt that accompanies knowing you are responsible for your child being picked on by his mates who do possess all three Obi Wans. I left the Star Wars section and its multiple figures , starships and light sabres behind me for the several middle aged men wearing anoraks, who seemed to be enjoying themselves a little too much . I instead drifted towards the book section where I found a copy of Norfolk Century: The People and Events. Which apparently involves telling the reader about the last 100 years of Norfolk life. lt features "famous and infamous local characters" and can be yours for just £25 . Now I don't know about you but attending UEA I now feel enlightened enough about how inbred Norfolk is without having to paying £25 for the privilege of reading about it. For


the love of God, I see it every day. I fled from Jarrolds with tears in my eyes and headed for the relative safety of a lingerie shop, where I found a Classic Silk Robe for £65. As much as I would love to see the one my heart yearns for in such an elegant gown , my student budget convinced me that she would still looked

"I entered the Disney store to see if any of their cast members (employees) were not smiling, so that they would have to sing to cheer each other up" as beautiful in a greying potato sack, which would also be cheaper. While I was in this anonymous lingerie store I also saw a bargain bin full of men's briefs for just 73p. However, I had no time to lament upon this as I was too thrilled at having been called "sir" by the assistant. Of course, she did add the words, "You 're making a scene", immediately after but, hey, I was still called sir. With an added zing in my step (probably something to do with the new and incredibly comfortable briefs I was wearing) , I headed into the lion's den. For my sins I inspected the Disney Store, where apparently if any of the cast members (employees) are not smiling the other cast members (employees) have to sing to them to cheer them up. So I entered and tried to infuriate as many cast members as I could just to remove their smiles and by association humiliate the other cast members. Once in the Disney Store I saw a foot long cuddly Winnie the Pooh toy which to purchase would set one back a staggering £49.99. Again , as much as I desire to buy the one I love su ch a 'token ' of my affections , I don't want to have to sell on e of my kidney s in order to do so. So my final th ought as I worry about where the hell I am going to be abl e to get affordable presents is to tell you that in a popular store cards to celebrate Hanukkah cost twice as much as Christmas cards do. A sad indictment, perhaps, upon the co rporate endeavour to install religious uniformity upon the populace.

Concrtlte Wednesday, December 1, 1999


Xmas 99


Christmas is apparently the time for goodwill to all men, but what abo~t the strain of playing ·happy familes during the Yuletide season? Adam Chapman investigates a few alternatives ... household. 'Tis , indeed, the season to be jolly. is year the dubious pleasure of inviting my decrepit Great Uncle Emie and Auntie 'Tis also the season for my parents to have an Brenda (they are real names I assure you) uncharacteristic bout of guilt, whereby they feel the need to ruin an already emotionally fraught to Christmas lunch h~ fallen to the Chapman r---------------~------~-------------------------. dayby~~ng 0 nearly dead relatives to 0 entertain us all 0 with stories :about how there were no turkeys in the war 0 ("except in the Dardanelles" hurhurhur. Humour is a lost concept once you reach forty). I have it on good authority (Uncle Emie) that spam was the festi ve

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for bad feeling within my family. The year my mum cancelled Christmas is a

particular favourite of mine. lt seems getting up at five in the morning to put a plucked bird in the oven is sufficient reason for throwing a tantrum at the dinner table, refusing to serve "you bunch of ingrates• and shutting herself in the kitchen with the dishwasher. Linda Bellingham would never have treated her Oxo family in such a way. So it is with great trepidation that I make my journey home this year. Believe me, the prospect of lunching with the beige brigade does not exactly fill me with an all-embracing feeling of human kindness. Which leads me to consider whether there are any real alternatives to the holiday we seem to hold up as some kind of idyll, when its very existence seems designed to tu m families into an entity starkly similar to the Borgias. I suppose I could try someone else's family. Gatecrash a household in some affluent area and force them to buy me presents, although I believe there are laws against that kind of thing. I suppose it could work as some kind of sociological experiment to find out whether the patriarch of every family insists on hoarding ribbon and name tags from the presents in. a black garbage bag to use next year. I think not. Another option is to get on the earliest flight to some island in the Indian Ocean, book a suite in a beach front hotel, lie by the pool and banish the guilt of letting down "the family" (in a non-Godfather way). Guilt is, after all the reason why I'm facing this dilemma in the first place. Parental guilt. "lt could be their lasr, I was

told about my relatives in a cloying last-minutesof-Lassie way. I prefer to take the more cynical view that there exists a rather substantial will. I'll say no more than that. The hotel option, however, has one fundamental flaw. Money. Let's face it though, this isn't much of a problem considering my plan is nothing more than a fantasy. I am doomed to spend eternity trying to dismiss my family's Christmas habits as charming idiosyncrasies, from Auntie Brenda's flatulence problem when getting into cars to my dad's insistence on wearing the fauxgold earrings from the extortionately expensive crackers (it's really funny I can assure you). Still the best way I have heard to deal with siblings, especially younger ones, is to exchange their presents with wrapped up coal. lt is pleasantly amusing when young children cry on Christmas Day when it seems Father Christmas doesn't like them. So spare a thought this year (without wanting to sound like a Children in Need advert) for me, because I will be being forced to make pleasant conversation with Mr "I fought a war for you" and Mrs "Have you got a girlfriend yet?". At least I can rest easy in my one simple pleasure: "accidentally" ripping the paper hat which m}' over-compensating father insists upon. The Waltons? They've got nothing on us, although I'm pretty sure none of them were in the early stages of turning into a psychopath.


Slave labour is alive and well this Christmas, Will Halsey and Jeremy Simon spoke to elf, Rudy Gonzalez, about what really goes on in Santa's workshop.•. dy Gonzalez is not a happy elf. His three oot two inch frame is finally standing up • gains! years of mistreatment from his entrepreneurial boss and legend, Father Christmas. Indeed, the portrait of jolly Saint Nick that Gonzalez paints is decidedly different to the fairytale image in the minds of children. Gonzalez was born in Toluca, Mexico, in 1957 into a large and poor family. He was forced to forego an education and began work at the age of nine. He flitted between jobs for many years until, in his late teens, he stole a mule while in Mexico City. Fleeing to a remote region of the Yucatan Peninsula, Rudy sought refuge and a livelihood in a new factory. He explains: 'The manager was full of big ideas, he promised us everything. He told us we would be working for a jolly man in a red suit and white beard. We never saw him. In the end, we had nothing." Life in the factory was grim from day one. As one of Santa's little helpers, the workload steadily grew while the pay remained the same. "Around Autumn it was worst," laments Gonzalez, 'The pains racked my hands as we were forced to work 16 hour shifts. I must have boxed 1000 model aeroplanes in one day last year. They never thanked me." Sporting an Armani ensemble, Father Christmas made fleeting visits to the factory, arriving by limo

arid ~ng a short tour. He has only spoken to Rudy once. "He told me he knew about the mule, cfud that I would end up in jail. He has all the top Mexican judges in his pocket." Bribery is now an integral part of the Christmas empire. Saint Nick moved his operation from the North Pole to developing countries due to cheap labour and non-existent heating bills. Local objections were swiftly dealt with. 'The rumour in the factory was that political figures against him were silenced with crates of Champagne, or in some cases, masked gunmen on reindeer.· However, the allegations against the bearded one do not stop there. Another widespread rumour suggests that when production is down, Christmas simply moves children from the good list to the bad list. "One year, when quotas were clearly not going to be completed, a factory mysteriously burned down, with the insurance money used to buy poorly made black market toys. Many fell apart before the New Year." And apart from the Black Market profiteering the money has also been alleged to have gone towards more dubious destinations, Gonzalez explained. Christmas apparently wined and dined 17 year old elf Holly Bush, which signalled the beginning of acrimonious divorce proceedings with his now ex-wife Ivy. Saint Nick later cashed in on his relationships with his best selling autobiography, 'The Holly and The Ivy', wh ich was

serialised in The Sun. "On our wages at the factory, it would have taken me four years to save up to buy the book. I would have burned it anyway." Gonzalez is now seeking asylum in Great Britain. For many years, the factory owners forced Rudy to stay in Mexico, under the claim that foreign nations would refuse entry to a mule thief. He has subsequently found this to be entirely untrue. Despite living in a semi-detached in Swaffham, where this interview was conducted, these are . not happy times for an elf in an unfamiliar country. He has not seen his family for nine years and is unlikely to see them in the near futu re. Indeed, despite surviving the Christmas regime, times are hard for Gonzalez, who has failed to find an East

Anglian elf support group. "I pope things improve here, but more importantly I want to spread the word about Mr Christmas and how he treats elves. A lot of them have not been as lucky as me."


' Christmas Day is one of those occasions that can·tell us a lot about ourselves. Concrete have put together·a few questions to reveal what your attitude to the feted day says about you. 1. On Christmas Morning, do you •.• A. Leap out of bed before the first cock-crow has left the beak of the nearest rooster, sprint through to Mummy and Daddy's room, and exclaim your delight at what Father Christmas has brought you? B. Saunter casually into the living. room at about 10 o'clock with a much rehearsed air of cool indifference, before slipping away to rip into your presents? C. Get savagely tom away from your peaceful slumber by countless younger siblings, and manhandled downstairs in spite of your impassioned pleas for the Son himself to save you? D. Barricade the door, slip in the ear plugs, and snuggle up for Christmas day in the land of Nod?

2. In the car on the way to the family gathering, do you ... A. Lead the hearty renditions of "Kumbuya, M'lord, Kumbuya", accompanied by Cliff Richard on the car stereo? B. Ostentatiously fit on your headphones and head-bang to the dulcet tones of Oef Leppard, while secretly dreaming of Roast Turkey and Christmas pud? C. Moan about how Uncle Alex always lechers over you during the festive meal, and warn that this time round you'll knee him in the crotch? D. Choose this moment to inform your parents of your choice to join the Yo~ng Conservatives? 3. Upon arrival, do you_. A. Greet each and every relative with passionate embraces, and repeatedly acknowledge that, yes, indeed you have grown?

B. Ignore everyone, except your rich relatives who might have got you somilthing decent? C. Slip off with one of your cousins for a fortifying spliff? D. Fake a stroke?

4. At lunch, do you ..• A. Tuck in with great gusto, chortle heartily at every pop of a cracker, and ~ropose a toast to the marvellous cook? B. Make sure that your moutl is full at all times, thus ensuring· a full belly and eliminating the possibility of getting caught up in any tortuous family con•1ersations? C. Respond to Uncle Alex's unappreciated wandering fingers with a remarialbly forceful, yet surprisingly discreet, knee to the crotch wtllle still at the table? D. Vomit over the turi<ey? 5. After the meal, do you ••. A. Settle down for a heart to heart with Gran and Grandad, and say that you really must get together more often? B. Settle down with the malt whisky intended for Gran and Grandad, and say that you must get together more often? C. Avoid the attention of your rather dappy grandparents altogether by assuring them that they must be

mistaken: your dad's parents emigrated ro Uzbekistan last year, and your mum's ma and pa died in a freak horticultural accident in '73? D. l eave the country.

6. Down the local, do you... A. Make sure you're the first to the bar and offer to buy drinks all round. B. Say yours'll be a double vodka and coke, ta very much. C. Slip away to the family room and tell all the kids that Father Christmas doesn't exist. D. Down your pint, glass the prick in the Father Christmas outfit, and mug the old fellow taking a collection for Help the Aged?

7. During the obligatOry trip to Church, do you ... A. Pray for goodwill to all men, world peace and the abolition of Third Wortd Debt? B. Pray for good will to all men, wortd peace and the abolition of your student debt? C. Pray for this hellish experience to end as soon as possible, and for an opportunity to get better acquainted with the chorister third from the left on the back row? D. Walk back and forth outside the • church doors shouting "The end is nigh!" and sporting a sandwich board bearing the legend "Satan is my Lord. Praise be to Satan!" in

big red letters? 8. When it's time for presents, and you receive the Wacky Guide to Surviving Student Life from the fou rth con secutive relative, do you ••• A. Tilt your head to one side, beam your best 'you shouldn't have!' smile, and purr; "Oh thank you so much, ifs just what I wanted!"? B. Say ifs just great, before inquiring, out of idle curiosity, whether they still have the receipt? C. Grit your teeth, and remind yourself that some poor souls have got it a lot worse - dead people, for example. D. Grip the offending relative by the ears and pummel their head repeatedly against the wall?

"Hyou donllike a pressy, do you grip tlte offending ftlltive by the ears and pummel their head repeatedly against the wall?"

body via the same route through which they had previously entered? C. The bristly tongue of Uncle Alex exploring the intricacies of your right ear? D. The germ of a cracking plan to create genetically modified Christmas trees with Poisonous needles just in time for next year's festivities? The Verdict

If you answered A to most of these questions then you are a cartoon character called Ned Flanders from an American cartoon series. There can be no other explanation. No-one can possibly enjoy Christmas and the company of their family so completely and be human. If by some horrible freak of nature you are and you do, God save us all. Those who gave B as their response to the majority of queries are perhaps marginally more normal. You obviously derive some kind of enjoyment out of the whole thing, but at least you try not to let on, and you do go about it in a fairly underhand way, so all hope is not lost.

9. When leaving thM arius, clo you... A. Mourn the briefness of the whole affair and say how you wish you could stay for longer? B. Insincerely mourn the briefness of the whole affair and say you wish you could stay for longer, while clutching your goody-bag and grinning from ear to ear. C. Helpfully start the car and open all the doors for your nearest and dearest? D. Go round to each and every one of your relatives telling them exactly what you think of them, making sure to convey to the eldest generation that you hope they'll be safely entrenched six feet under by the time of the next Christmas gathering?

1 0. Later that night. do you Wllb to... A. The image of a mysterious bearded figure clad in wh~ standing at the foot of the bed and praising you on your good deeds? B. The sensation of half a tur.key and two-thirds of a Christmas pudding preparing to exit your

If you ended up with a C average you have a pretty healthy attitude to the whole grim business. You see Christmas for what it truly is: one day in the year that has been put there to reveal to us the comparative bliss of our daily lives. But we must be vigilant: even when December 26 is finally here, we must never forget that the heinous day is only another 31 and a half million seconds away. Ifs sooner than it sounds.

Hmm. All of you in the D set possibly have some issues you need to deal with. An aversion to all things Christmassy is only natural, but you can take that dislike to unacceptable extremes. We can all see where you're coming from , but perhaps a little·toning down is in order, I mean violence doesn't solye anything does it? Or does it? Oh to hell with it. Destroy the villainy that is Christmas. You have our heartfelt blessing.


Concrete Wednesday, December 1, 1999

week before Christmas: I was doing a hundred miles per hour down a side street in New York when a small, yellow football rolled out into the road, followed by a cherub-like child, seemingly unaware of the physics involved if I hit him. Jim just managed to extend his hand in warn ing and utter a throaty scream before we were enveloped by the sound of tires screeching across ice and snow. The car slid from one side of the road to the other and the child skipped by. I resumed top speed ignoring the state of the road: multicoloured piles of snow and slush illuminated by the street decorations overhead. Jim's eyes were wide with fear. There were tears rolling .down his cheeks. I turned and saw Mama in the back. Her dress had ridden up during the excitement, exposing a pair of white boxer shorts and stubbled legs. Her hands gripped the seats, white at the nails, her lips were pulled back over her teeth and one of her gold bauble earrings had fallen out. "Are you trying to kill us, boy?" she shrieked. "Keep below eighty-five or the cops will think something fishy's going on. "Keep the speed down!" Jim seconded. "Fine, fine." I turned a corner at fifty and an old man lunged out of the way between two cars. I hit his shopping trolley and bags full of frosted apples and tomatoes were sent sprawling across the windscreen in a haze of red. "Did you just hit that old boy?" Mama asked. "No, Mama, just stay cooL" Where's Dads's hand gone?" Jim said. I looked into Jim's lap and saw only the packets of frozen peas."lt must have fallen under the seat in all the hullabaloo," Mama said. I swerved to miss another car of last minute shoppers then hit the straight towards the hospital, keeping my foot firmly down on the gas. "Check under the seat!" I screamed. "We don't


want Dada's hand all mangled and broken." My old Dada had inadvertently severed his hand whilst putting up Christmas decorations. He'd run about the house like a mad man, gushing blood all over the shop. The ambulance came but · they forgot his hand in all the rush and so we'd gone back for it. Misty, our pet mongrel, had been licking the blood from it when we returned. "Can you see it?" I asked. Jim was crying. "Dada's hand! I've lost old Dada's hand. He's gonna kill

"Where's Dada's hand gone? I looked into Jim's lap and saw only a packet of frozen peas. lt must have fallen under the seat" me! Calm down!" I screamed, desperately trying to see the road through the snow settling amongst squashed fruit on the windscreen. "I can't see it," Jim sobbed, "I can't see ill" Mama unleashed her seatbelt in the back. She was a large woman and manoeuvred her head under Jim's seat. Her ample behind rose i nto the air like an unassailable mountain. "I can see it!" she cried in glory. "lt's under here. There's a couple of chewy sweets stuck to it and it's rolling about."Does it look okay?" "I think so," she said. I pulled into the hospital car park and hit the brakes. There was an unholy yell as Mama was catapulted forward and her head was jammed under the seat. Jim and I got out. "Dear God!" Jim exclaimed. "Mama's stuck." I looked in, seeing only her broad shoulders, her head having somehow become wedged under the seat. "Can you hear me, Mama?" I asked. "I'm trapped, boy! Dada's hand's gone!" I checked and saw that it

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had been thrown forward and onto the floor in front. "Thank God!" I grabbed the hand and gave it to Jim. "You take the hand. I'll stay here and comfort Mama." Jim left. "How are you Mama?" "My neck's beginning to hurt. I think I may have broken ill" "Don't you worry, Mama. We're gonna get the fire brigade here and they're gonna cut you out real fine. Jim returned without the hand. "Dada's been moved," he said. "Dear God!" They've taken the hand with them. He was crying out for Mama."Shhhh!" I said, holding my fingers to my lips. "What's that, boy?" Mama said. "Is Dada asking for me? I must see him." She began crying. "No, don't cry, Mama. Please don't cry. They're gonna stitch Dads's hand up real good." A hospital attendant arrived, bright red tinsel stapled in rows down his trousers like a surreal festive clown. 'What appears to be the problem?" He saw Mama in the back of the car, her behind arched up into the air. "Our Mama's trapped under the seat," Jim said. "I'll go and call the fire brigade," the attendant responded, and ran off, flapping trousers losing glitter as he ran. 'We may need a doctor," I called out to him. "Mama thinks she might have broken

her neck." "You stay here with Mama,• I said to Jim. "I'm gonna catch a cab to see if Dada's okay." The cab driver would only go as fast as fifty-five and he may have killed a cat; he charged me extra for that. Dada was in intensive care. "Dear GodI" I said to the doctor when I saw Qada. "You idiots have stitched his hand to his chest!" I watched Dada in his room through a window. "it's only to keep the organ alive, son. Your father's lost a lot of blood, too much to perform the opera~on now.• "I see.• I said, trying to sound calm. "Well done. "One thing, son. "Yes?" "Your father was babbling maniacally before he lost consciousness. He claimed to have broken one of the gas pipes in the hallway putting up the streamers and that the roaring fire in the living room was still on." I swivelled on my feet and began to run , little pools of snowmelt trailing behind me. "And son," He called after me, "He said your crippled Nana was in her bed upstairs." "Dear God!" "Erm more thing, son,• His voice chasing me down the corridor. "Yes?" I skidded to a stop, wet trainers sliding on old lino."Merry Christmas."

Chrls Stott

Concrete Wednesday, December 1, 1999

Xmas 99 ·

Eat drink and be merry The season of goodwill will shortly be with us again. To avoid the festive quarrels of fixing food with your housemates it might be wise to choose the next best thing, eat out! Robbie Uprichard samples the delicacies that the eateries of Norwich have to offer...


Chistmas grub Veggie option


~--------------------~-------------------------+------------------------~----------------------~ Best deal with a traditional Christmas dinner costing £11.95, groups of 4 getting free wine.

Yes! Although may not be suitable for vegans.

A nice log fire and festive decorations are promised. But no Christmas tree this year.

Three course meal will set you back £14.50, you need to pay a £3 deposit as well.

One vegetarian dish on offer, as part of the set menu.

Usual decorations and trimmings to help you celebrate.

Bella Pasta 3 Lion Street 614676

Two deals on offer with a pasta theme, one at £12.50 or the more luxurious choice at £16.50

Pasta is the meal of the day! But there are choices of veggie starters and main courses.

Free glass of punch for tables over 6. No Christmas music .. only Cher and Lou Bega apparently.

The Rose Tavern 88 Rupert Street 612110

Full Christmas meal will cost £12 at lunchtime or £14 if you go at night. Need to book early.

Vegetable pastry pie is one option , for meat eaters avoiding turkey, plaice is also available.

Big parties are catered for so expect a lively atmosphere, usual Christmas surroundings.

More traditional fayre with a three course meal. .. at the more pricey £14.95

Vegetarians are catered for, check the menu for details.

Decorations including a festively decorated reindeer and Christmas music .. but no tree, there is no room unfortunatly.

Bell Vue St Philips Road 621784 York Tavern 1 Leicester Street 620918

Owens Cafe Bar 1 Farmers Avenue 765512

WIN! WIN! ·wiN! WIN! WIN! A Colour Printer


A brand new Lexmark Z11 colour printer worth £79 could be yours this Christmas ... plus a bottle of champagne or case of beer to help celebrate the impending doom that is the millennium. If you want to win this faboulous prize then all you have to do is tell us the most inventive thing that you want to do for the millennium. Answers to the Concrete office or the competitions box in Union House by the end of term.

Cds galore are on offer for one lucky winner! Yes us friendly types at Concrete are having a clear out of cds from the office ... you too could be the proud owner of records by Gabrielle, Michael Hutchence, and other various singles and soundtracks, all in a very fetching cardboard box! Simply answer the following: Which record company did Alan McGee walk out on last week? Answers in the competition box in Union House.


To help celebrate the opening of new Norwich super club Time the club's management have kindly provided three cases of beer to help celebrate the end of term (and the end of essay writing) and the festive season. To win this boozy feast all you have to do is tell us where Time is located in town .. . lt's as easy as that! Answers to the Concrete office.



Christmas 1999 issue 106 01 12 1999  
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