As I write I’m surrounded by boxes. The same boxes that materialise in my lounge every year as November becomes December, then once again as December becomes January before disappearing out of sight and far out of mind for another 11 months.
I’m talking of course about Christmas decorations. The belongings that have been with me for years which seem to hold no meaning or warmth whatsoever other than a few weeks at the end of calendar when I suddenly develop so much affection for them that I give them pride of place throughout my house, like old friends returning for a blissful reacquaintance.
This is just icing on the Christmas cake of total mindless behaviour and sheer mayhem we begin to succumb to once we’re clear of the perfectly civilised (by comparison) Hallowe’en.
It was important to me to make it crystal clear from the off that I have mixed feelings about Christmas. This isn’t me attempting to get ahead of the (shopping) crowds to rain on your (leftover) fireworks as you prepare to open your first advent calendar door. Nor is it me riding into town on a one horse open sleigh (or donkey, if you’re so inclined) to rave about how good this year’s John Lewis advert is (more on that later).
Years after I gave up eating meat I became subject to a strange revisionist history from the people in my life who would tell me “you never really liked it though did you?” – not true I ate sausage and chips for dinner almost exclusively throughout my childhood. The same happened more recently when I became vegan, “you didn’t eat much cheese before” – BS, I put it on everything, sometimes I’d stand at the kitchen sideboard in a trance of cutting a slice and eating it, over and over.
This is happening again now I’ve opted to take a backseat on The Polar Express. Don’t tell me I’ve always been on the fence about Christmas, I was all in for years. I barely had a choice, I was almost born on Christmas Day! (I held on for three days to give Jesus his moment 💁🏼).
I survived the awkward teenage Christmas stage, I embraced the very merry Christmas phase (let’s not talk about Christmas lunch 2006 please). The ice first started to crack when I had two families to think about.
Side note, the relationship I’ve been in for 13 years came to be during the Christmas and New Year period 2009, so I have another significant reason to feel some level of sentimentality for this time of year.
After a couple of Christmases together trying not to leave anyone out the whole thing became so convoluted that I ended up home alone (no pun intended on that one) Boxing Day to avoid showing any favouritism. I put on a podcast that two friends of mine had at the time and they happened to mention my name on it. It gave me a jolting realisation that the ‘safe’ company of convenience I’d chosen was a pre-recorded conversation which acknowledged me, but I couldn’t respond.
For a myriad of reasons I became more politically aware in 2015 than I had been previously. Everything in life felt more important than another trivial old Christmas as it began to roll around and I made a declaration for the first time that we weren’t “doing presents”. We were going to “liberate” Christmas I told my Mum. My manifesto was that we shouldn’t be restricted to the confines of a few days of the year any more. There was far less pressure and expense if we bought what we needed as and when, rather than risk the awkwardness and waste of unwanted gifts.
Now, at the time I really needed a lawn mower..
On 5th December 2015, I popped over to my parents house to find this waiting in their utility room.
My Mum has all her Christmas shopping complete well in advance of December, so she would’ve had this whether I’d received it on the 5th or twenty days later, but fair play to her, she found a loophole in the system that still allowed her to buy us a present that year.
The subsequent years were a mixed bag trying to strike the right balance, with various gift-lite strategies such as Secret Santa to allow us to overlook the reality most adults seem to struggle with, that this should all just probably be for kids.
There are still the small victories to be had for grown ups, those with or without children, the chance of a few days off to reset before the cycle starts again is right up there for me. Trying to uphold the illusion of it all for anyone over a certain age (I’m not putting a number on it!) begins to feel a bit irresponsible.
I’ve seen behind the curtain. On one of the hottest days of the year in August 2013 I went for a meeting with Argos in Milton Keynes where they produce the catalogue images. I stepped indoors from the 32 degree heat outside to find that in the air conditioned studio it was Christmas Day.
Some of us keep chasing the magic into later life and I know, I can’t really argue with that, I’m a nostalgia hound. The extent of the yuletide obsession became clear to me though when, in the height of the pandemic the sensationalist headlines read words to the effect of CHRISTMAS IS CANCELLED. Much like most of the cancel culture hyperbole, that wasn’t strictly true though was it?
Plenty of families were still able to provide an experience within the confines for those who shouldn’t have been denied it (reminder: children!). Instead grown adults parted with rationale thought for their selfish wants, all at the risk to the wellbeing of those they were so desperate to spend time with. I thought I was done with the whole thing after seeing this play out, yet here we are again..
This advert Tesco’s ran in 2020 about it being “ok to be on the naughty list this year” perfectly captured this frankly embarrassing mindset that we should all act in the greater good, except for when it prevented us doing something we couldn’t possibly imagine having to do a little differently for one year (or two, yeah yeah, I know..).
I’m pleased to report that the ads have returned this year to the usual pantomime of who can successfully tap grief in the most heartfelt way to win the tearjerk ratings war. For my money it’s John Lewis who have combined the admirable act of fostering a child with a questionable Blink 182 cover to get you into stores this holiday season.
This is probably where I should reference all the people that get left out of Christmas every year, so I will, because herein lies the problem. When we pile and pile on the hype for this Most Wonderful Time of the Year™ and suspend our disbelief that it might not be true, we create the circumstances for people to feel unnecessarily left out of an event that exists mostly in our Cadbury’s Rose-tinted memories. Sure, it happens to a lesser extent with other occasions throughout the year, but nowhere near the scale of the myth that EVERYONE is having a Merry Christmas.
Christ, 1,200 words in and I’ve not even got to Mary, Joseph and the sweet baby Jesus. Where do they all come into this? Well increasingly less so apparently. The BBC reported this week that for the first time less than half the population of the UK identified as Christian in the 2021 census. At 46.2% we’re down 13.1% on 2011’s decade earlier figure of 59.3%.
When I was in my later years at Secondary school a friend gave me a nativity scene themed tree decoration with strict instructions to hang it every Christmas written on the back. I decided in 2020 that 18 years was the right amount of time to get back in touch with her and share that I still display this on our tree each year (out of superstition as much as sentimentality). She was mostly freaked out I think. “Oh my word” was the response.
As the reason we started all these festivities becomes less of a justification for our insatiable need to maintain what is now mostly folklore based traditions, I find myself staring blankly at a wall about to be covered with lights and tinsel wondering, what IS Christmas?
I’m not going to go all sixth form poet on you and harp on about consumerism, we get that, but don’t most market trends move on? What is it that keeps us clinging to this one and how on earth will we explain it when the Spaceman finally comes travelling on his ship from afar?
Look, if you didn’t get that last reference, do you even Christmas?
Liam Toms 