Why even this Grinch is happy to feel festive
MINCE pies have been on sale in my local Co-op for nearly six weeks now. Our branch of Ryman put fairly lights up a fortnight ago, and I’m convinced one of Ashbourne’s charity shops is adding a new festive decoration to its frontage every day, just to sneak it in.
No, this isn’t another opinion piece complaining about how early Christmas is getting each year. Well... maybe it is, a bit. But can you really blame retailers for jumping the gun a little after what they’ve been through?
I’ve always been of the belief that there should be an outright ban on any festive displays until the Remembrance period has ended. The John Lewis ad should have an embargo, Christmas markets cannot begin and no radio station in the land is allowed to play any Christmas songs until at least the day after Remembrance Sunday.
But in reality, at least in the last decade or so, the run-up to Christmas has started kicking off as soon as that last puff of smoke has drifted away from the finale on bonfire night. And, yes, it’s too early.
But this year I don’t mind. This year we as a nation are so desperate to get back to having a proper Christmas, one that isn’t taken away from us by politicians in a pandemic panic, that I’m prepared to let it slide.
I was initially aghast to see Chatsworth’s Christmas market starting in early November this year, for example, and then I went along to it – partly by force – with my wife and my mother. And it was brilliant.
We took our dogs along, saw lots of traders we knew, and lots of traders we didn’t know. We spent a lot of money buying gifts we won’t find anywhere else and I managed to refrain from decking the lady who was playing Christmas carols on a slightly broken pipe organ. Yes, me, the original foul-tempered Christmas Grinch, got through a festive public gathering in early November without so much as kicking a Christmas tree to bits.
The thing is, whether you like Christmas or not, whether, like me, you think it’s just an overcommercialised religious festival involving The Queen and a dead
turkey, or whether, like my wife, you approach it with the unrelenting enthusiasm of a six-year-old, we all need something to cheer about this year.
As I wandered around the various sheds at Chatsworth, soaking up the Christmas music, watching the bobbles on the Christmas hats bounce around and resisting the temptation to indulge in a cup of mulled wine, it dawned on me that, for every smiling face, for every small business owner offering up their card machines for another sale, and for every child gazing at the bright lights with wide eyes, this was a very special event. An event that felt normal, like we’ve finally been freed of the threat of another Christmas being snatched away at the 11th hour.
Of course, it’s easy to slip into a blissful state of ignorance when you’re surrounded by people who don’t wear a mask, can’t remember what social distancing means, and appear to have developed an aversion to hand-sanitiser. The reality is the pandemic could come back to bite us in the derriere at any minute.
And there I go again, sounding like a downbeat Christmas Grinch. When actually, the truth of the matter is, I want this Christmas to go ahead as normal more than any other Christmas. I want us to be free of the burden of masks and sanitiser. I want the small businesses to come back fighting fit and I want families to be able to sit around a dinner table again.
I’m looking forward to Christmas this year. I’m looking forward to mulled wine, late-night shopping and Santa’s grottos. I’m even looking forward to spending the festive period with my mother-inlaw again. Sort of.