Christmas - from a reformed phobic's point of view
Ding Dong Merrily on High!! Jingle Bells Jingle Bells .. .yes, you’re right, I’m singing Christmas carols in November.
What on earth is wrong with me? It’s at this time of year that I’m usually charged with scorn, daring anyone within a five-mile radius to even mention the word Christmas.
I charge down supermarket aisles tutting and huffing at every packet of mince pies and family-sized selection box of biscuits I see.
Every strand of tinsel irritates me, and the stacks of over-priced, over-indulgent toys make me want to grab the nearest child and shout “I was happy with a tangerine and a nut” in their ear.
But for some reason, this year, I don’t have those urges. The snowflakes and crackers in Tesco which usually make me want to dig a hole and bury myself in it are actually making feel a bit warm and fuzzy.
Have I been possessed by the Christmas fairy?
Surely not, maybe I am just coming round to the idea that it is not that bad after all, or more importantly, there is nothing I can do about it.
My cheer has reached quite frankly ridiculous proportions – yesterday I found myself wondering whether we should get a real or plastic Christmas tree.
I decided on plastic as I don’t agree with digging up or cutting down trees for decoration – even if they have been grown for purpose.
Speared them with their own holly and boiled them in a pot with their own pudding – to quote a seasonal hero of mine.
But it seems Ebeneezer Scrooge, Dickens’s infamous Christmas killjoy, and I are no longer singing from the same Christmas carol sheet – if you excuse the pun.
I am on the side of his cheery housekeeper Mrs Dilber, and feel the urge to squawk “Merry Christmas Mr Scrooge!!” at the top of my voice.
On a semi-serious note, I really used to hate Christmas, and I don’t user the ‘H’ word lightly.
My destain for the festival and everything about it was intense to put it mildly.
I could not stand the false cheer, the waste of money, the excuse for laziness, and the way the world seemed every year to shut down for 48 hours without a single thought for anyone who might not want to join in.
While the rest of the country started getting into the spirit of things two months ahead, I started getting the pangs of dread.
I annually refuse to buy presents or cards. I have even opted to work, just to maintain some sense of normality and routine while everyone else gorges on turkey and stuffing.
But something very strange has happened to me, I am actually looking forward to Christmas this year.
I think it might have something to do with spending last year on the other side of the world.
Desperate to get away from it, me and the other half jetted off to Australia to spend December 25 basking in the sun, thousands of miles away from crackers, brandy snaps and The Great Escape.
But as we stepped off the plane, lo and behold, we had not escaped it any more than if we had booked a holiday in Lapland.
In scorching sunshine and 90 degree heat gardens were adorned with fake snow and Father Christmases.
People were running up and down the streets of Sydney dressed as reindeer and elves, and the shelves of Coles, the Ozzy version of Tesco, were stacked with, you guessed it, mince pies and Christmas puddings.
I gave in to the realisation, it is everywhere you go and as the day approached, I found myself actually feeling a bit left out of all the festivities at home.
Christmas Day in sweltering Queensland, tucking into a Christmas dinner in 90 per cent humidity with no Two Ronnies or Only Fools and Horses on the box didn’t seem right at all.
It was nice, don’t get me wrong, but if I am going to have to do Christmas I want to do it properly and that means fires and snow and people wrapped up as they walk down the high street loaded with parcels.
I also realised that although I spend each year as miserable as possible, it would not be that sinful to actually allow myself to enjoy it.
More to the point, despite my yearly protestations, there is nothing I can do about it, there is no getting away from it – however far you go.
So I am happy to say this year I shall be raising a glass and tucking into a mince pie with the rest of the world – who would have thought it....
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