©SKC

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

What is the big deal with Christmas? I mean really, nobody goes to church anymore until midnight on Christmas eve when magically many people are reminded what the last 2 months shopping is meant to be about albeit through rose tinted and alcohol hazed glasses. Anyway the Christians stole the festivities from Pagans who decorated trees during winters darkest period and Santa's image was ingrained into the christmas psyche by Coca Cola. Jesus was apparently born in the summer time. Hmm!

The big day arrives after months of brainwashing into spending a fortune and we have to suffer the little children in hospital as we are surrounded by the torn wrapping paper that cost the lives of 1000's of trees only to return to earth once again. Then racked with guilt for spending too much money, we are then told by the bent UK media we should feel guilty for not spending too much and that sales are down on last year and doom and gloom and we are all going to die!!!!!  Followed by adverts for summer holidays and Cadbury Creme Eggs at every opportunity. Mum, who has been brow beating us since August to write a list the length of the Bayeux Tapestry agrees that its all a waste and almost looks like she may make a move to stop this wasteful event through a sense of relief that it is all over at 2pm. Yes months and months of worry and nagging and endless shopping and planning for what?

Mum and dad try to recreate an episode of the Walton's  without the frugality or the dungerees, yet clearly remember christmas past. Dad announces they don't know how many they have left which in turns generates a notion of guilt for daring to not wish to be a sheep and follow the crowd as though I was the spawn of the devil, conveniently forgetting the first two born.  I collect my nan who is really frail these days. Mum, executive producer, director writer and coordinator tells everybody they shouldn't have as she acknowledges her gifts, that they should save their money and proceeds to runs around checking everyone has enough sprouts, more mash more roasts a la Peter Kaye.  Dad, chief boy and fund raiser, embraces the moment and clearly remembers his christmas past rebuking any comments he does not approve of with a reminder he will die one day.  My sister smiles and jollies it through the event with a controlled demeanor that has always amazed me.  Then the big pack up commences. Mum, armed with 37 tupperware tubs begins the big left over packing ensuring nan has enough food to see her through to February.  A simple meal would suffice but mum inisits on 4 courses thus creating her own headache through a notion of wanton expectation that does not exist. 

For me however, I see it for what it really is. It's a commercial exercise. Even the very few people who engage with religion are caught out by it.  Thankfully, when it is over, my best bud OB parks himself on the couch, we wang a DVD on and have copious amounts of the alcohol. Now that is what Christmas means to me, relief it is all over and the world can get back to some kind of normailty. Meanwhile sheep are bleating humbug! 

©SKC