The day is finally up and it's reached that time again, and when I say that time I mean the point where even the advertisers have abandoned all notion of a merry Xmas and are instead trying to flog you their leather look dining set that's been ignored by customers all year for the 'amazing price of nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine'
The fickle nature of the advertising business should be enough to remind the enthusiastic public that year after year buy into the giving and receiving festivities that it is just things that they're pulling out their hair and losing limbs over in the last minute supermarket dashes.
The thought of Xmas, pre turkey is an all very jolly one. You must watch the cooking shows and the Christmas specials of shows like This Morning and all seems as the day can only go to plan. English society and jovial upper class parties, however, are not the usual Xmas and there is some room for catastrophe. Yet you remain hopeful in the notion that all will go to plan and the grandparents will gleefully receive their box of milk tray an purple v-neck jumper/tin of Bassetts liquorice and john Lewis voucher/ Amaryllis and theatre tickets to Jersey boys ensemble, and be happy. You squint your eyes hoping the turkey WILL fit in the oven and NOT be dry as it has in previous years, most notably in 1991 when you had 12 to feed and an uncooked turkey at 5 in the afternoon. You hope the youngest siblings will not sneakily drink the sherry behind the sofa and you hope the dog will not mistake the authentic synthetic plastic tree for woodland and raise a leg, unleashing a tidal wave of canine territory marking upon the newly fitted cappuccino coloured carpet.
Whilst you're fantasising about how you may roast a pork lion like Tom Kerridge, present your icing sugar laden delicious home made buns to your guests and dress your tree like Kirstie Allsop does, you observe your children playing in a calm and most surprising manner as they discus their wish list to Santa; notes accompanied by pictures cut out from the Argos catalogue functioning as visual aids in case of emergency, and your hubby whom you do so love on Xmas day pours you a festive tipple of baileys over ice and mouths the words to 'baby it's cold outside' in an entirely charming, and not one bit slimey fashion.
However, the reality of Xmas sneaks up on us all like catholic pregnancy or the shits. No one has ever gifted the right things and all too often we hand out the 'emergency three for two' soaps from Boots we bought back in October, which entirely defeats the object of gifts at all but Xmas seems to bring out a sense of neurosis and who to buy for dread in all the best people, and it can only be remedied by a cheap beauty product from a high street chain.
Grand parents are very rarely overwhelmingly grateful and over joyed by their gifts. The milk tray is ever so well thought out as so to not interfere with the productivity of their dentures and although the jumper is a large and borderline insulting upon initial opening, post Xmas excessive eating and general greed it fits snug and suddenly a sense of 'bloody good present that' sets in. The liquorice, to some degree is a small gesture to oneself. Despite being a firm favourite of your grandparents the confectionary itself resembles your soul at this late stage in the season, black and bitter. Although the comedy becomes very apparent as you watch grandpa chew... And chew... And continue to chew... And further chew... And chew some more... Chew... Chew... And as we reach 2016 he continues to chew... You understand where this is going, yes?
All the gifts are lifted to eye height and given a vague nod of approval then put to one side which is quite disheartening for the buyer and often leaves an air of ungratefulness although fainting and crying with excitement would probably be considered an over reaction so it is difficult to find a happy medium.
Dinner prep becomes more like the Royale Family each year and as you discover your turkey won't fit in the oven, or take three millenniums to cook, you seriously consider the pros and cons of microwaving the majestic creature. A Xmas dinner of turkey is characterised by it's dry texture and accompaniment of week boiled veg and out of date condiments, which will ring all too true if you're a member of my family. Pudding is often a disappointment, fruit and booze like sherry and brandy, especially in a desert, are something we try to avoid all year round and eat in the name of tradition over Xmas willingly...baffling behaviour really.
Hubby is probably not charmingly pouring you a baileys over ice... He's probably working out the cheapest drink to mark the occasion which often leaves you holding an 80s throw back over frothy snowball and trying to look happy about it. The children's conversation you're listening in to will start off as a delight but inevitably it all ends in disaster when your child tells her friend or sibling of a present they want, but have not once asked for in the run up to Xmas... Again, my family will be giggling now as they think 'Wendy dress'
At the Xmas meal, as you're all sat around the table at different heights in dining chairs new and old, deck chairs from weekends in Blackpool in the summer of 1974, patio furniture and your grandmas old machine chair that spins in every plausible direction defying science on so many levels, you tuck into your meal giving each other the same banter as the year before. Again my family will be thinking of my mothers obsession with finding out if she likes crab sticks every year. Then as people try to help the day unfolds. And funnily enough so does the sanity. Too much horrendously cheap wine is consumed and one too many jokes are made about whomever chose the bottle of Chardonnay that is sat in the centre of the table and everyone is avoiding; clearly someone wasn't informed about the ABC of wine (anything but Chardonnay), party hats are worn, unless the crackers are cheap and they are too small to fit on our family of large heads, the Queens speech is talked through- because nobody actually listens to it in the entire country, do they? And nothing is as Jamie Oliver Said it would be. The tree by this point is lop sided and 99% Of decorations have jumped ship and spread themselves across the floor and all notion of a festive cabin that was the initial thought behind decoration has absolutely gone to shit. All that's left for the day is horrendous television and too much booze. Watching various soap characters die or have their affairs outed with a Morrisons home brand Irish cream and a toblerone, followed by Love Actually is how you end your 25th December, providing you're doing it right of course.
Upon reflection, you've made jokes at each other's expense all day with a vague undercurrent of resentment and tried to, in some cases, suppress disappointment because you haven't received your Lego Star Wars storm trooper key ring. You've eaten too much and drunk too much and not one thing you've overly indulged in has been something you consider to be your favourite. Tv has been an exceptional let down and the company has been compulsory. And despite it being utterly amazing to give presents and see a smile stretch across and otherwise miserable loved ones face, the entire day is an celebration of pure greed. Which you've whole heartedly basked in all day. Merry fucking Christmas.
P.s do not fear... I got my storm trooper key ring *thumbs up*
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