Days away from Christmas

 Days away from Christmas

In days and years gone past Christmas used to be the gleaming highlight of the year, the perfect conclusion to a year of hard industry, businesslike commitment to the cause, toil and drudgery suitably rewarded by the perfect family feast, a time of much merriment and mirth, fun and frivolity, children's smiles, much excitement, the tree in the far corner of the living room and all of those familiar accoutrements that make Christmas so special.

For those of a literary nature Charles Dickens invented Christmas. He did you know. It's probably an urban myth though since there can be no conclusive proof that Dickens had anything to do with Jesus Christ, Joseph or Mary and the only evidence we can find is Dickens Christmas Carol which may be just incidental anyway. Still, Christmas looms on the horizon and Santa's sleigh bells are rushing over the chimney tops of millions of homes across the globe. Then he'll squeeze his body down the said chimney with a huge grin on his face, mulled wine stains on his beard and happiness being his ultimate objective.

Anyway the fact remains that in a couple of days time we'll all be abandoning ourselves to the perennial knees up. It now occurs to you that the years are indeed flying past and now that you've reached 60 and have been gleefully informed of grandfather status next year, the time is now rolling relentlessly. You are thrilled and delighted for your lovely son Sam and equally as lovely daughter in law Lucy and still floating down from your bubble of holiday euphoria in glorious Brazil.

But out there in the supermarkets of the world, there is a wild ferment of activity, humanity sprinting around frantic aisles, swerving, dodging and weaving their way past each other. It does seem that every year that timeless ritual of panic, emergency and mini crisis seems to spiral out of control. How many bags of brussel sprouts can you physically pack into one trolley? How many boxes of chocolates can feasibly fit into a huge metal basket? 

Where on earth do the veritable farmyard of turkeys go amid the mountain of Christmas mulled wine, the frightening amount of booze we just keep knocking back and then the potatoes that become roast potatoes in rich abundance. And don't forget the blue flamed Christmas pudding. You'll never be forgiven for forgetting the pud, full of raisins, sugar, currants and loads of cholesterol. And that's when the all consuming guilt and regret suddenly kick in. What possessed us to indulge in such copious quantities of the very food and drink we were implicitly told not to eat and drink throughout the rest of the year. 

And yet the concessions have to be made. Christmas only happens but once a year. Go on let yourself go. It's Christmas. It's time to be silly, frivolous, carefree, wanton, happy go lucky, getting completely and unashamedly drunk and renewing acquaintance with family and friends you haven't seen for ages. This may be time to don those ridiculous crepe hats, drape lanterns and tinsel over grandma, grandpa, uncle, auntie and cousin and then slump back deliriously on the sofa, refusing to get up until New Year's Day.

But hold on. Let's slow down and reflect on the harsh realities around us. This should be the most harmonious time of the year, re-uniting again, catching up again, chatting small talk, watching the kids wrap open presents which last for precisely for five minutes before the batteries go and you find yourself scanning the pages of an Argos brochure for an adequate replacement. It's all very hectic and perhaps unnecessary but then it's always been this way, no different from Christmases of yesteryear.

This Christmas though, according to some, could be the most traumatic of all time. Amid all the cheer, the sentimentality, the tradition and vivid illumination, Britain is suffering a major industrial meltdown. In fact it's all gone rather pear shaped and misshapen. No, let's be frank here. It's a nightmare. The professions that used to serve the country so admirably are now going out on strike, protesting vehemently about pay and living conditions. Before you know it, the electricity will be switched off, power cuts will plunge us into insufferable darkness and all hell will break loose.

Yesterday the entire nursing profession hit the streets of London and the rest of the country was incensed about the pathetic wages they have now been forced to accept whether they like it or not. The nurses are now rubbing their hands next to warm braziers with placards in their hands and boiling resentment in their hearts. Outside the hospitals of Britain there is raw anger, animosity, fury, militancy on an unprecedented level. Christmas Day on the wards of Britain could be the gloomiest of all time. This is not a good time to be Rishi Sunak and being a Prime Minister. It was always thus.

Then there are the post offices of Great Britain, the fuel bills that have to be paid, the increasing poverty, the unutterable misery and desperation. The council estates and neat, comfortable terraced homes and bungalows are growing restive, impatient and downright disgusted. The bright and shiny Christmas trees and flashing lights may be redeeming factors but how do you explain to your children that Santa won't be arriving by your fireplace because, to be honest, mum and dad, just can't afford to bombard you with all manner of electronic games, I Pads, Smart phones and high tech gadgetry.

This could be the most disappointing Christmas since goodness knows when. The chances are that Christmas could be very bleak, spartan, cheerless and forgettable because nobody has got any money and besides you're surrounded by luxury and affluence anyway so stop moaning and be grateful. Get real. But greed and rampant commercialism demands that we all be happy, pampered and contented. It does seem that a huge helpful of perspective may be required anyway.

We'll all get up on Christmas Day limbs moving, eyes wide open, normality restored, communication resumed and we can deal with the drawbacks, the slight inconveniences, the perceived shortages since our neighbours have got far more than us. Then you realise that we can all be good to each other and still continue with our lifestyles without any worries about starvation, want or chronic deprivation.  

And then we'll remember those famous pop music anthems that have so enlivened and uplifted us over the years. Slade's Noddy Holder, one of the many noblemen of glam rock during the 1970s, is still counting those substantial royalties every time Merry Christmas Everybody is played on the radio. Then your personal favourite Chris Rea's Driving Home for Christmas will be wiping the windscreens of his car from the falling snow as a car meanders its way along slushy motorways and winking headlights. You Tube will remind you of this now 34 year old festive ditty. Chris, you're a superstar.

The list will continue for posterity. Jona Lewie still smiles broadly whenever somebody plays his celebrated anti War single Stop the Cavalry. Stop the Cavalry is a charming melody, detailing the horrors and ravages of the First World War and then Lewie's longing for home and his wife. Paul McCartney of course could never be overlooked in this festive homage to reindeers, sleighs and men in red coats. Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas time is a warm, heartfelt and enriching tune, showing McCartney and his late wife Linda revelling with friends in a local pub and then doing the Hokey Cokey around snow caked streets.

The former legendary Beatle also gave us the beautifully moving and poignant Pipes of Peace, a song so bitter and sweet that some may find themselves on the verge of tears. Pipes of Peace is another anti War song depicting a military tunic dressed McCartney pleading for reconciliation.. Against a terrifying sequence of exploding bombs and gun fire, he then treads awkwardly across a minefield before stopping in the middle of a muddy battlefield, smiling at his German enemy and asking whether they can be the best of buddies again. But then Christmas arrives and he then tenderly clutches a love letter to his wife.

So there you are folks. You have several alternatives and choices to make this Christmas. You can either wallow in the general misfortune around you or just be very appreciative of your faculties. The year 2022 has of course witnessed the most tragic of all deaths. On a bright morning in early September Her Majesty the Queen died at the age of 96. Some of us were heartbroken and bereft since Her Majesty had been one of the most dominant of constants in our lives for as long as we can remember. She was indeed the personification of majesty, a wonderfully unifying and stabilising influence over both Britain, the Commonwealth and the rest of the world. All of the eulogies and words have been said. Thankyou Your Majesty. We shall never ever forget you.

Now though we find ourselves at the dawn of a new era, another generation, a future that none of us can predict but would rather take one day at a time. For everyday is a gift, sweet as honey and richly gratifying. We could rise from our beds in the morning with dark, nihilistic pessimism, a firm conviction that once again the world will simply end at some point and we'll all end up as cynical, grumpy curmudgeons who can never see the bright side of life. Still, three sleeps to go before we all engage in frenetic unwrapping of festive presents, complaints about the latest pair of socks and jumpers we've already got from last year and then watch the first King's Speech on Christmas Day for over 75 years. It could be a Christmas to remember.