Dreams of a white Christmas
Santa’s not really a sunbather
It’s mid-afternoon on December 25, and you’re beached as. Sure, a sun and sand Christmas sounds great but after that barbecue-meets-hearty-roast-lunch spread and a second round of dessert, it feels much worse. You’re a shopping mall Santa – with a bloated belly to match, and under the harsh summer sun, you’re slowly beginning to match the colour of St Nick’s coat.
And like a second-rate shopping mall Mr Claus, you too are starting to doze off, tired of the nagging kids and their insistence on post-lunch physical activity (how are they immune from the food coma wrapping you in its embrace?).
You’re knackered and the suffocatingly hot Santa hat and garish woolly Christmas jumper you had to wear to the work do doesn’t help.
Who’s to blame for your stress and impending melanoma? The colonists, of course.
Yes, they brought possums and influenza to New Zealand but, perhaps more offensively, they helped create a kiwiana Christmas mash-up, out of sync with peak summertime in their new home.
Steamed Christmas pud with brandy custard as hot as the sand scalding your feet is clearly a mutation that must be stopped.
But come mid-afternoon on December 25 in midwinter Europe, it just feels right.
You’re in the home of Christmas so, as you’d expect, traditions are pure and matched to their climate.
There are Christmas lights because it’s dark, seemingly all the time.
There’s roast lunch, eggnog and Christmas puds because beach bodies are months away.
Even the main event, Christmas lunch, is timed to coincide with the inevitable post-dessert nap, which occurs just as the sun is setting . . . at 4pm.
Or, even better, make like the French, Swiss,
Germans and Slovenes, and have your main meal as Christmas Eve dinner, then spend the 25th gallivanting in the snow. At least then the Jingle Bells and Frosty the Snowman white Christmas references will make sense.
It is the build-up to Christmas, too, which the northern hemisphere excels at.
In New Zealand, November means the start of long, sunny days, a rush of work before year-end and last-minute bach bookings.
But in the United Kingdom, November feels like the second month of winter already, and Christmas stands out as a rare beacon of bright neon lights, with smells of pine, cinnamon and bacon-wrapped sausages in the frigid darkness. We need it. And, boy, do we welcome it early and with a lot of fuss.
A social hibernation during the winter months is broken with work Christmas parties, gift shopping, mulled wine at Christmas markets, and fun-runs in full Santa costumes.
Less social Christmas traditions such as rugging up in a hideous Christmas jumper to watch (terrible) movies with a plate of Christmas mince pies is a perfectly reasonable way to spend a December day. You can finish the whole plate with zero guilt – ’tis the season, after all.
Yes, even festive overindulgence is perfectly matched to the northern hemisphere.
It’s a precautionary activity to make sure you survive the winter.
In New Zealand, you have to squeeze into your togs the next day.
Don’t get me wrong, for most of the bleak weeks of November, January, February, and March, I will be in a near constant state of southern hemispherefomo (fear of missing out), devouring messages and photos of the long Kiwi summer like a pitiful junkie: ‘‘another pic of your day at the beach, please’’. But envy in the Advent-heavy days of December? Nope.