If you shiver at the mention of the C word and practically heave seeing the piles of Quality Street and Roses weighing down the crates at the entrance of supermarkets when you were simply popping in for a pint of milk, then look away now because I’m saying it; Christmas.
It’s here and upon us whether we like it or not. As a child it really was the most magical time of the year, with my responsibilities stretching to simply spending £1 each on my parents, usually amounting to a bottle of Radox shower gel wrapped up under the tree for them. As an adult, times are trickier, and the politics of the entire season muster up a level of stress I thought was purely reserved for apocalyptic times.
Being in a relationship adds another complex dynamic to the celebration, with the discussions beginning somewhere around mid-May of ‘Who are we spending it with?’ or, and this truly sends the hairs on the back of my neck up on end, the dreaded ‘Shall we host this year?’
I mean, what better way to throw yourself in head first to the festivities than catering for 12 different eating ailments all under your own roof, and realising at 8pm that a single drop of Bucks Fizz hasn’t graced your lips because you’ve been too preoccupied preparing after dinner cheese boards for everyone?
Despite it all, Christmas is my favourite time of the year and I strongly believe it always will be. I love unpredictable British weather; I love seeing a slowly dwindling bank balance from November onwards because I know it’s being spent on the best season of all; I even love panic buying fresh turkey at 7pm on Christmas Eve at a random Tesco Express off the A27 because I’ve realised with horror I haven’t defrosted the frozen one in time. Despite everything, I wouldn’t change it for the world! –