The Other Side Of
Christmas
Well
it’s come round again, and very unwelcome it is too. Let me declare my position at the outset – I absolutely
loathe Christmas.
There
is virtually nothing about it that I like, and it’s extremely difficult to find
any redeeming features in it. But this
is not just another “Bah Humbug!” reaction to the obvious crass commercialism
of the modern “festive season”. It’s not just me being a miserable curmudgeon
(although I’d always put my hand up to that charge), and it’s not just
anti-religious sentiment (but again – guilty as charged). No it goes much deeper than that. It’s the time of year that leaves me feeling
down and depressed, as if I’m being smothered by it all, and that I’m not going
to get through it. Leaving aside the
relentless, rampant consumerism of Christmas, which has become not simply a
major marketing exercise for virtually every commercial enterprise, but also
almost a year-long logistical exercise in shifting products and services onto an
otherwise indifferent marketplace, one has to ask “what’s the point? What’s it all really for? Who does it benefit? And what are we actually celebrating?” What I see around me these days is something
that has grown out of all reasonable proportion, into a Frankenstein’s monster
of unattainable aspirations, unaffordable (for many) expenditure, and unwelcome
disruption to everything that can be described as “normal”. The pubs are full of works’ Christmas parties
and meals (where people sit around wearing “party” hats, trying to look happy),
the buses are on strange time-tables (with drunks slumped across the back
seats), and places you need to visit are suddenly closed early or completely (in
order to “assist our staff”). Then there’s
the sheer waste generated by millions of unwanted “gifts”, outrageous amounts
of “special” packaging, piles of uneaten food, un-needed journeys, special
charges etc - it makes me despair. The fact that it’s all based on a garbled 2000-year
old religious story which the vast majority of people in this country don’t
actually believe in, seems to defy all sense of logic.
But
again, it’s deeper than that. Like many
others, I heartily resent the emotional blackmail and manipulation that goes on
to persuade people to buy lots of stuff they don’t really want or need for “this
special time of year”, the hijacking of the religious myth to create some
magical, mystical fairy-tale Dickensian Yuletide of snow and robins that has
never existed (and sell yet more stuff), and the constant raising of the bar of
expectations by every form of media that people need to clear in order to
deliver a “Happy Christmas” to their families (and sell even more stuff). It’s
an utter Jabberwocky of confused ideas, images and idiocy.
I
find it almost impossible to deal with it by just ignoring it (as perhaps I
should) – I find that it grinds me down, it eats away at me constantly, it
bores right into me. The frantic
attitudes that emerge as we get closer to “the day” are frightening. The rush to get the shopping done, the presents
wrapped, the cards written and posted, the tasteless turkey ordered, the food
and drink stock-piled, the arrangements made for seeing friends and (perhaps
unloved) relatives and so on, becomes frenetic.
The crowds in the shops and streets make me feel claustrophobic (and
even Santa Claustrophobic), my chest tightens and it’s hard to breathe. The constant TV build-up – the adverts, the celebrity
specials, the multi-channel festive schedule – drills holes through my brain. I simply can’t get away from it. It’s
everywhere. It’s never-ending. And it’s all false. And such a total pile of
bollocks.
Before
anyone starts to psycho-analyse my miserable condition, I should say that (as a
child) I used to enjoy Christmas, and I have many happy memories of it. Perhaps because the whole thing was much
simpler, much shorter, more straight-forward?
As a young parent I brought up my own children to enjoy Christmas. I don’t have a problem with a Christmas tree,
a few decorations, presents, cards, a special meal, getting the family together. But when did it all become so bloated? So extreme?
So out of proportion? So unaffordable? So detached from its original purpose?
And,
of course, for many people Christmas is a dreadful time of year – because they
are on their own, or they have no money, or no home, nowhere to go and share
the “festive” spirit. Out there on the
streets of Britain, there is genuine poverty and hardship, which is only thrown
into even sharper relief over the Holiday period by the excesses of others. I count myself very fortunate that I am not
among the needy, and can afford a comfortable life.
So
what actually is this problem I have? Is
it some middle-class angst? Shouldn’t I just pull myself together, count my
blessings and simply get on with it? I’d
love to, but I can’t. It’s like having a huge weight pressing down on top of me,
squeezing out the air from my lungs. Why
can’t I just join in and stop being such a bloody misery? I really don’t want to feel like this, so
down and depressed, but I can’t help it. I don’t enjoy it. I feel ill.
I’ve never (fortunately) suffered from clinical depression, so I don’t
know what it’s like. But I would imagine that this is how it can start – a downward
spiral, an inability to cope, a feeling of helplessness, a loss of energy and the
necessary resilience to fight back. It’s
horrible. It’s stifling. And every year I dread it coming round even more. But there’s no escape from it. We’re just being buried under an avalanche of
spurious “traditions” and expectations.
So
that’s why I hate Christmas – completely, utterly, deeply. By mid-January I’ll be feeling OK again, back
to my old self. But for now, it’s a
bloody endurance test.
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