The Ghost of Christmas Failure

2010 seems to have a dire lack of the usual Christmas mania. Even though the usual Christmas street lights are twinkling around town, Starbucks are serving their delicious Gingerbread lattes and the standard array of omnipresent Christmas carols has arrived, somehow, Christmas hasn’t quite hit me yet. To me, Christmas time means too much food, a whole lot of wrapping paper, a sprinkling of arguments and well meaning but not always successful family get-togethers. But thus far I’ve been spared from any Christmas feelings, and my advent calendar has practically become a countdown till doomsday.

Tackling the Christmas tree is usually a matter of civil war. Most of our tinsel looks like it’s been through the wars these days and my sister and I never fail to have a vicious argument about the colour scheme (God forbid we ever have another painfully tacky blue-and-white year…if we do, she’s getting bitten). The problem with sharing the decoration of the Christmas tree is it’s such a personal thing, and if neither person gets what they really want out of it, they’ll resent the damned thing until January when it gets lobbed out the door. After the saggy tinsel and bashed up baubles have been strategically placed by either party, our dear old dad will come lumbering in to attempt to fix the ever-faulty Christmas lights, which results in another stupid argument and someone storming off, stamping on a bulb in their dramatic exit. This year I was free to decorate the tree as I wished, but it was a sad a solitary event. I never really thought my sister would get old enough to actually get her own house, as in my eyes she will always be a gawky sixteen-year-old, and never a university graduate with a full-time job. So it was a lonesome and hurried task in a bid to make our house ‘festive’, and certainly not a ‘Christmassy’ process.
Presents are another minefield. I’m usually one of those over-prepared Christmas fanatics who have got every ribbon and bow down to perfection by late November, but this year I’m down the river without a paddle and have no gift ideas. Usually, I spend hours scrutinising over which bulky M&S jumper would look better on my dad, he always shakes, pokes and smells his presents before opening them, and dully takes a stab at what he thinks the gift is. My brother usually uses the same vacant expression for every gift and says ‘ooh’. My sister and mum have pretty much perfected the art of faking excitement at crappy gifts. I think the only time I have ever witness my mother show disappointment towards a Christmas present was the time my dad bought her a size 20 dressing gown. But alas, this year I’ve had little time or inspiration to shop, other than a ‘Fishing With Ferrets!’ calendar which I expect my mother to fawn over for the rest of her life.

My lack of Christmas festivities might have something to do with my college’s dire lack of decoration, or in fact any signs that it’s Christmas time at all. I’ve not seen a glimpse of tinsel, a flicker of fairy lights or a dusting of glitter at all. It makes me reminisce over my Secondary School days of wearing elf hats and belting out Christmas carols in our weird annual nativity assemblies. I can’t blame it all on Strode’s being their Scrooge-y selves though; the weather’s also played its part. My idea of snow as a symbol of Christmas and festivities has completely gone out the window – it plagues us, prevents us, and seeing as no one will make a snowman with me, depresses me.

With only a few days of college left, I’ll be glad to have some time off, and hopefully I can brainwash myself into feeling more festive through constant carol singing and mince pie making sessions. As for the rest of you, I hope you’re not dreading the 25th as much as me. So happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.