Yep, it’s that time again. Grapple with the rusty padlock on the shed. Brave the alarmingly large daddy longlegs congregation gathered over the winter, haul out the fake tree and box of decorations.
“Nah. It’s not going to happen, Mum. We’ll get a real one like always.”
“But…”
“Ssshhh. I’ll sort it for you.”
As always, I give in because it’s cute he still wants a giant, needle-dropping tree at his age. And I have to admit his Santa sack does look good by the sweet-smelling monstrosity. I’ll have to harden up and not shed tears as the tree sheds needles and turns brown. I have a heavy veil of guilt as the poor thing is dragged away each year. It could still be happily growing in a forest somewhere completely oblivious to axes and shiny baubles.
Initially, I planned to sidestep the tree conversation. I suggested my son, his partner and I go away for Christmas. Somewhere far, far away from hams, Pavlova and dead trees. Naively, I thought they would be as excited as me at the thought of an exotic Christmas away from the fripperies of tinsel, the disappointment of someone’s auntie’s bad pasta salad loaded with carrots and raisins. The grand idea went down like the aforementioned pasta salad.
“I don’t think so, Mum. Christmas is for all the family. It’s family time. Be nice to go sometime next year though.”
Gawd… who brought him up?
So, Christmas and all it offers is inching nearer. The radio and TV announcers are counting down the days to remind us how ill-prepared some of us are. Not wanting to sound ungrateful to have family to be with at some point on the day, but it really is a great deal of hoo-ha and money disappears at an alarming rate.
I’d like to see Christmas spending and feasting dialled down. Why do we tend to go overboard? I’m all for families and friends celebrating together but wouldn’t it be so much more relaxing to chill out on a rug at a park or on the beach and have a simple meal? A few sammies, a chip of strawberries and a mince pie or two? A wine or a beer for those that want one. It’s strange and I haven’t quite worked out why (apart from I dislike drinking alcohol in the day), but I rarely have a drink on Christmas Day. Maybe half a glass of bubbles or a still white later that night once the party’s over, the ham remains are wrapped in a damp tea towel, my niece’s vegan dish is covered with a beeswax cover and my imaginary cat frolics among the discarded mass of torn Christmas paper.
Then comes the quiet time. The days after Christmas where families usually get to snooze, play cricket on the lawn and break their presents. For those alone, it can be the loneliest time. Couples are so… coupley. It can get a bit teeth-gnashingly blue seeing the happy couples strolling hand in hand while their dogs cavort in the waves fetching sticks.
I mentioned this to another single friend who said he always thought of Bryan Ferry (photographed above) and Roxy Music singing ‘In Every Dream Home A Heartache’ when he saw such couple/dog-dom. Said it cheered him up no end. Clutching at straws me thinks but whatever works for him. I love seeing people happy together and am so nearly going to buy a dog. I have instructed a close friend to monitor me at all times in case I head down the motorway towards the SPCA or loiter in front of a pet shop. She is to stop such behaviour and remind me why I will not buy one. “Yet,” I whisper under my breath.
Here it comes, the festive season. Remember it is not so festive for some. Donate generously to those who struggle to put any food on the table and afford gifts for their children. After all, Christmas is for children, in my book. And that’s why I will get a blimmin’ real tree because the look on my child’s face (at 28) when it’s up and lit up is still awesome.
Happy Christmas everyone. Be kind. Peace on Earth.
(DEIRDRE THURSTON)