Christmas. Happens at the same time, every year. 25 December. BOOM! There it is. So, why does it feel like a surprise to us all? It’s not like we didn’t know it was happening, but still, we’ll be running about like idiots in a few weeks. Indiana Jones-style rolls under the shutters for last-minute ‘bits’ as Tesco closes its shutters (for a mere 24 hours!).
Call me Scrooge, but we need to get a grip. We’re all grown up now – and just like nostalgia, that festive excitement isn’t what it used to be. The lead-up seems to start in September nowadays, when those pesky mince pies slowly make their way onto supermarket shelves, down the aisle they usually reserve for BBQ stuff over the summer. Fast forward to November and Christmas trees pop up in your favourite shops, with gift wrapped empty boxes stashed underneath them. Nip down the shop for milk and low and behold, there are packets of Chrimbo cards handily positioned next to the tills. Literally – no excuse to be unprepared, yet still, we always are.
Things haven’t been the same since 1984 (the year, not the George Orwell blockbuster) when I finally opened the Mr Frosty I had nagged ‘Father Christmas’ so relentlessly for. My sister and I broke with tradition and decided to head downstairs just after 3am on Christmas Day – more like Christmas Dawn. As the elder sibling, I spearheaded the silent creep down the stairs, hand over my sister’s mouth so as not to wake our knackered, snoring parentals.
With fairy lights twinkling in the living room, we crept in and sure enough, ‘He’d been’. A stack of presents for her, and one for me. Carrot we’d left for ‘Rudolph’ magically gone. Glass of sherry for ‘Father Christmas’ standing empty. We set to work, ripping stuff open. The sheer JOY in my heart when Mr Frosty was revealed is a memory that has lived with me forever (still firmly logged in my cranium, 40 years later). He was hauled out of the box and dragged to the kitchen, where I started raiding the freezer for ice cubes, with my younger sister whispering, “Should we read the instructions first?”. Me, brazen as ever, shaking my head, wafting her away while I set to work, shoving blocks of frozen water into Mr Frosty’s eager ‘ice crunch zone’. Excitement building, it was time to turn the all-important handle, and await the flow of slush. I grabbed it with gusto, expecting nothing less than alchemy – and the sodding plastic handle sheared off, rendering the entire thing useless.
Needless to say, my younger sister is the one with a sensibly sized pension pot, a tidy Tupperware cupboard and a yearly subscription of trendy toilet roll. That maverick moment characterised my own personality in a heartbeat, as well as hers. Lessons weren’t learned, in the same way as we never learn when it comes to the winter festival of light – otherwise known as Christmas.
This year, start early. Stock up now. Write a list. Buy some batteries. Read the instructions. Trust me, it’s worth it!
