In which I try to fathom out the true meaning of Christmas.
The religious freaks are at it again, telling us to remember the Real Meaning of Christmas. I think they think it's about commemorating the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. And, that aspect has a certain attraction to it. Christmas Carols. I love them. Not unreservedly of course. Ideally when played with full orchestra or alternatively a pumping brass band. Preferably sung by people who can sing. My personal and perennial favourites are Hark the Herald Angels Sing and It Came Upon that Midnight Clear (the Sullivan tune, words, thankfully not by Gilbert). Lots of brass. Harmonies, music.
But I don't think Christmas Carols are really what the Christians mean. The words of It came upon must rest uneasily on the hearts and shoulders of many.
And this Christian Christmas spirit is just bah humbug to me, having been delivered of the news that my devoutly Christian neighbour might be having building work done to her house over the Christmas break, just at the time when Jimmy and I are looking forward to peace and rest from the ever-noisy building works that were supposed to have finished in September but will seemingly go on ad infinitum.
The Christians who sanctimonious lecture us on TV are either ignorant or deliberately untruthful, because they always fail to mention Saturnalia and other Pagan Festivals that pre-dated Christianity by millennia, celebrating the natural rhythms of the earth, and were hijacked by Christians scared of the fact that ordinary people enjoyed an opportunity to eat, drink, dance and shag. How can we take such people seriously.
The Christians' objection to how 'we' celebrate Christmas is to the grotesque commercialism of it, and in this I happen to agree with them. Christmas excess is a great favourite of Bloggers: from the first signs in August, to spotting the first domestic decorations, to hilarious sightingss of chav OTT blink-bling decorations.
I don't know any adult who actually looks forward to Christmas (there may be rule-proving exceptions...!), except that it represents an opportunity for a few 'free' days off work and the chance to cocoon. More and more people are 'escaping' to the sun, perhaps as much a natural reaction to dark and cold as it to Christmas itself. Which reminds of that pagan festival of lights! Now we moan that the cost of holidays over Christmas and New Year is so exorbitant compared to, say, mid-January.
I live in an area where there are many poor people and even more who are hardly well off. Many of Jimmy's customers fall into the latter category. He despairs as he listens to the expense that some will be going to over Christmas. And I despair. I do not know how people with children cope. It would be so easy for me to sit here and pontificate about "Do this", "Don't do this", but there are so many pressures coming from so many sources.
It is easy to get lulled into thinking that certain things are 'expected.' I've been there. One year I swallowed all the guff about Christmas Parties this and Christmas Parties that, and the need to have a new outfit. At the time my self-esteem was not very high. In fact I had loads of parties to attend, two from work, about four in the local Labour Party, plus less formal get-togethers of friends. I enjoyed them all, because of the informal nature and the good company. And it's nice to dress up, but I would have looked a total prat wearing the sort of dress the magazines and shop displays told me were the season's 'must haves'.
A million people piled onto pedestrianised Oxford Street last Saturday, to which I can only say why? One year, the Saturday before Christmas I found myself on deserted streets in Central London, avoiding the main Oxford Street/Regent Street axis, with time and space to think. Back-streets such as Haymarket and Trafalgar Square. Last year I did the bulk of my shopping in an eerily empty Peter Jones in Sloane Square.
I want to declare a complete moratorium on Christmas (neplings excepted) but I'm scared that that makes me look a killjoy, or worse, selfish. I am dreading going through the routine of yet again writing Christmas cards to people. Relatives aside, out of my old friends, only David and Rachel responded to my news that I have been ill. I go through a whole guilt trip about not making enough effort to contact people. But, really, who contacts me (except Ria, to whom I really owe a long call and a visit. I know that other friends have also been ill or are caught up in their hectic lives, often with babies (I suspect in some cases I have been declared a non-person for not having bred according to their expectations). But I have slowly concluded that it isn't my sole responsibility to maintain relationships that are dead.
Perhaps I have a problem in that I don't like being told what to do. I have an allergy to certain occasions such as Valentine's Day or Hallowe'en because they have no personal resonance for me. Christmas is more complex, because I do have an ideal of a perfect Christmas. It's New Year I dread more, with even more forced jollity. It is difficult to break out of. Part of my problem is I hate shopping as a lifestyle choice. I can tolerate if it leads to the acquisition of 'necessary' or desired goods. But I can't abide trailing round shops looking for yet more to add to the list of tat to give to people who don't really want it but feel obliged to give me tat in return.
I'm conscious this is in danger of turning into a smug "I'm better than the common masses" post, because I have seen through the hype. I am a lot happier now than when I felt pressured to conform to commercial expectations. But I feel hypocritical, because instead of spending money on tat, designer clothes, and magazine-inspired interiors, I blow it all on going out (operas and restaurants), holidays and on electronic gadgets and DVDs. So that doesn't make me better, just different and, I believe, more discerning. I suppose I would love to be able to convince everybody else that they shouldn't feel obliged to run up punitive debts and put immense strain on their relationships and their mental health. I want to be able to convince parents that their kids will love them, not for the expensive presents they buy, but for the loving attention they give (or in the case of teenagers,being allowed to skulk ignored in their rooms). But no one's going to listen to me, because I'm just the Grumpy Cow who wants to ruin everyone else's fun and profit...
