An Obligatory Christmas Post (Sort Of)

Originally for this week's post, I was writing up a huge rant on the complexities of human relationships (I lied. There are none. We're just a bunch of monkeys that should be mindlessly boning everything in sight, but we had to develop the ability to communicate, which made the process a lot more complicated) and how frequently, basic assumptions defeat a person's ability to find a decent bedtaker-upperer (my new word for relationships and everything in between, because it does essentially boil down to having an extra body taking up room in your bed. Hopefully a living one). If you're interested in reading my views on that (you shouldn't be), do feel free to let me know somehow. I accept all methods of communication, from facebook messages, carrier pigeons and carving messages into my flesh. Perhaps not the last one. However, then I had the sudden realization that it's a few days until Christmas, and since I couldn't be arsed to cash in on the hysteria of yet another fake apocalypse, I might as well base a post around one of the most overly exposed, widely celebrated holidays of the year.

This may come as a big surprise to everyone; despite my jaded, cynical view on almost everything (my list of pet hates include tiny dog sweaters and kitchen roll with pastel patterns on them), I actually really love Christmas. It's a fairly recent rediscovery. Probably most of you will know, or not know, even, that my parents divorced when I was fifteen years old. What subsequently followed was the worst Christmas of my young existence- even worse than the Christmas when one of my presents was an eggcup (don't ask). Without going in to details, I will say that it's probably best not to celebrate the first Christmas where your parents are separated with the family of your father's new partner. You will feel alienated and alone on the one day a year that's supposed to be all about family, plus tensions will be higher than Christmas dinner with the leaders of North and South Korea. Anyway, unfortunately this one bad experience turned me into a Scrooge for a few years. I not only literally screamed into the faces of anyone who brought up Christmas plans in front of me"I HATE CHRISTMAS. CHRISTMAS CAN SUCK MY DICK!" (okay, not literally, it was more me quietly mumbling "I don't do Christmas". But it's funnier to imagine me puce-faced, spittle flying everywhere as I wrathfully denounce all attempts at being jolly), I actively tried to boycott the holiday by hiding in my room drinking cranberry and vodka until everyone had ceased being merry. Well, at least for one year. To be fair, I was fighting with my then-boyfriend the night before, so there was an extra layer of shit on the shit lasagna that was my Christmas experience of 2010.   Another pro-tip for having a good Christmas- do not fight with your partner just before the holiday season.

However, my overwhelmingly British heritage and childhood nostalgia would not let my holiday spirit remain dead and buried. It rose from the grave and brushed off the shoveled dirt of years of disappointment, flying at me like a zombified Christmas angel with chubby arms outstretched to embed itself in my soft brain. Actually, I lied, it wasn't that dramatic. I just wanted to fit in a zombie simile somewhere. More what happened was the feelings of merriment I'd suppressed for so long began to creep back up on me. While I still wasn't actively participating in Christmas, I couldn't help but look enviously at other families and think "wow, I wish my parents still cared about real pine trees, roast dinners and decorating" (I'm a traditionalist, so sue me). I'd add "I wish my parents were still together" to that list, but I don't currently have a death wish.

But what cemented my return back to the land of the holly-jolly Christmas, silent nights and reindeer with horrific luminescent birth defects was my journey to my birth country a month ago. I think part of the reason why my love of Christmas was killed stone death was because... and here it goes, I'm preparing myself for a lynching... Australia doesn't seem to care about Christmas quite as much. There's a reason for this. You see, the reason why Christmas is such a huge deal in Britain is because it breaks up three months of solid winter. Days are shorter, everyone's freezing their tits off and it doesn't get any better until around April, and then it starts raining a lot. Having a big, dramatic festive season bang in the middle helps keep people going. And that is why on the last day of November, many British people were already wishing me a merry Christmas. That is why all the shop fronts were bedecked with Christmas finery even though most people hadn't even thought of buying presents yet. While Australia also jumps the gun on celebrating, it doesn't need to get any more festive than putting up some tacky plastic decorations because it's the beginning of summer and there's plenty more opportunities to get pissed and do dumb shit. That's like the definition of summer- everyone getting drunk and stupid while wearing very little clothing. Of course, the same happens in the U.K, but it's harder to muck around when you're wearing 3+ layers and a knitted Christmas jumper. If Australia had a mandatory item of Christmas clothing, it'd probably be a pair of festive budgie smugglers.

Anyway, what I'm trying my best to get at (even though I'm clearly getting sidetracked by various tangents) is that everyone should try to experience a full English Christmas. You know, the stereotypical kind with the 7 foot tree, a huge goose, a roaring fire and an umpteenth viewing of The Wizard of Oz. I had an early Christmas with the family I stayed with before leaving, and although it wasn't the whole shebang, it was enough to lift my spirits and make me feel quite loving towards my fellow humans (which usually grosses me out). So now that I'm back in this horrifically hot country, I've made an effort to make my Christmas more special. I set up my own Christmas tree (Mum wanted to stick to a very modern "tree" made out of driftwood painted gold, which is all well and good, but again, I'm a traditionalist), made a playlist of carols, replaced my usual snack with a mince pie/cup of tea and sat watching It's A Wonderful Life while wrapping the last of my presents. It's not much compared to what I know others are experiencing, but being able to indulge in the holiday spirit even a little is making me a lot happier this year. I know I'm not going to get spoiled and I never really expect much from this time of year, because honestly, we don't have the income for it, but I think creating an atmosphere is enough. Creating a sense of anticipation is enough. And while I'm too old to believe in Father Christmas, I may leave out some milk and a mince pie... just kidding. I'm going to eat them, laugh and go to bed. Stupid fat red fucker.

Merry Christmas everyone. While I know Christmas doesn't work out for everyone, I hope you all take the time to appreciate your families, whether your biological one or the friends you chose to be your family. Peace on earth and all that shit, and know that "merry" is now my code for "I'm a little bit wasted".