Anyone who knows me at all is well aware of my hatred of Christmas, but actually that’s not quite accurate. What I hate, even despise, is the consumerist nonsense that goes on around it. I simply cannot bear the fight to go shopping for normal foodstuffs for the entire month of December. The impossibility of parking. The shops full to overflowing with crap no one wants but will probably get because people can’t be bothered to make the effort to think what someone might actually want or need, and which will be shoved to the back of a cupboard, after a polite and gushing but totally inauthentic appreciation of said gift. I cannot stand the jolly revellers who get blind drunk in order to forget how miserable they really are, who may well kiss or even have sex with those they complain about for the rest of the year. The traditions which really aren’t, the apparent obligation to follow a whole set of nonsensical rules and rituals or be considered a miserable killjoy, whilst it being quite clear most of those doing it can’t actually stand either what they have to do or many of the people they end up doing it with. The debt people feel obliged to get into to be found acceptable, though to whom it’s hard to tell. Big business mainly.
So the fact I’m having three Christmasses might seem a little odd to the casual observer. I’ve already had one, and it was lovely. My older daughter and I, doing the sort of things that make it a loving and pleasing thing. Sharing a cosy day, cooking for each other and sharing a meal, opening the gifts we’ve lovingly chosen for one another and which we both love because they make clear how well we know each other, and watching crap on TV (there’s always crap on TV, whatever the time of year) in front of a roaring fire. Lovely.
I have another one on Thursday which will be similar but quite different, and then yet another one on the official day istelf. I’m looking forward to them. This is what it’s really all about to me. The rest of it can go to Hell.