The Other Side Of Christmas

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.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2015