“Twas the night before Christmas… and our dog was hooked to an IV at the emergency vets after having consumed a box of dark chocolate festive delights. The classy confectionery was not in agreement with his delicate canine constitution.
I was unsure what was upsetting me most; the sight of my poor pooch in such a miserable state, the minor issue of the illegally high fees that were stacking up by the minute or the fact that it was Christmas Eve and the timing was crackers!
Usually at that point on the 24th, I’d be knee-deep in wrapping paper and ribbons attempting to summon my inner Kirstie Allsop while happily ignoring that kernel of discontent that questioned the pointlessness of this task because everyone now tells you what they want to receive in advance on this Most Special Day via helpful weblinks to the product itself – so the ‘Surprise!’ element is most definitely lost.
Opening Christmas presents was a genuine delight when we were younger because we had no clue what lay beneath that tantalisingly wafer-thin wrapping paper. However vile the perfume, it would be used. No matter how hideous the hand knitted jumper, it would be worn. Regifting? When did that start?
And don’t get me started on the Christmas stocking! That now costs more than the presents alone!
One of my fondest memories was when the Christmas edition of the TV Times arrived. It was a real moment. We would read out the listings with rapt delight, scheduling which movies to watch and when but now with festive movies ‘on demand’ 24/7, 365 days a year *eye rolls, seriously, who wants to watch Elf in August? Where’s the joy in that?
Said ‘joy’ started to disappear early for me – 2003 to be exact. My six-year-old son queried why Santa didn’t visit starving children in Africa (that I kept insisting his discarded veg could go to) and take them food and maybe, oh, I don’t know… a home? I couldn’t sustain the lie any longer and instead, collapsed like a pack of cards. The magic of Christmas at that point onwards felt little more than a cheap parlour trick.
I want to enjoy these moments but they get trampled on from all angles. Selection boxes being stocked in September, Easter eggs by Boxing Day. The list is endless.
Gone are the highly flammable foil festoons sellotaped to the ceiling, now it’s all colour-themed baubles and coordinated family Pjs with a matching pair for the designer Pugapoo.
My dog? Well, fortunately, little Deefur came round from his canine coma and I managed to get him home in time to take the turkey out of the freezer. Actually, as it turns out, I wasn’t in time but that’s another story for another day. Suffice to say, if everyone’s drunk enough, sausages are still perfectly plausible to serve on the 25th December.”
Illustration by Tom Hubmann