Undeniably, inexorably Christmas is coming. I can almost smell the turkey and mince pies. Jingle jingle.
This year I have decided I’m going to be jolly from the outset. I’ll be so flipping festive you’ll couldn’t pick me out of a lineup of Santa’s elves.
But first I’ve got to get one or two tiny, little tinsly annoyances out of the way first. These things are more jangle than jingle:
Skint councils that spend thousands on getting Z-list celebrities to switch on the lights. Really. Exactly what logic suggests it’s a good idea for someone from TOWIE to travel to Perth? Or to get Tynchy Stryder to do the job in any Scottish town? Surely there is hardly any crossover between fans of these minor stars and youngsters (and their parents) who might find twinkly lights worth going out in the cold for. Particularly when there are so many more deserving uses for the civic cent…
Misunderstand advent. This day – December 1 – is when you open your first cardboard window before getting on with non-Christmas things. That’s all. This is not the day when you put up your decorations and divest yourself of normal common sense.
Excessive over-spending. When it comes down to it, it’s only one big lunch and a few pressies for the kids. The happiness of your nearest and dearest is not directly linked to how much money you spend on them, no matter what they say.
Excessive domesticity. Joy does not result from hours spent following complicated recipes, nor is goodwill guaranteed by intricate craft-based creativity, especially if it involves glue and glitter.
Crappy sexist ads. All those adverts that suggest women get stressed organising a gazillion things to make christmas perfect for their idle oaf husbands and amoebic offspring. Or the ones with the inane women who succumb to a well-chosen and shop-wrapped bottle of perfume.
Now I’ve got that off my chest, the way is clear for me to saddle up Rudolf for a one-way trip with Frosty the Snowman and an elf.
Ho flipping ho.