The Twelve Moods of Christmas (From Bucks Free Press)

The Twelve Moods of Christmas

11:00am Monday 12th December 2011

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1. It starts in September doesn’t it? After the summer holidays. Even if the shops don’t have anything in the shop, they have an air of Christmas. And that’s enough for me. This year, my heart dropped to my shoes. Oh God, here it comes again.

2. Why don’t supermarkets just have all the seasonal stuff out at once? One whole aisle of Easter eggs, Christmas crackers, Valentine’s cards and vile mugs for every family member available throughout May (an otherwise quiet month of shopping choices)? When I see the first sign of red and green, or the suggestion of a white beard or a reindeer, I started feeling that nauseous revulsion of every consumer snare out there. Then I started buying. 3. By mid-October I’d bought for my sister and mother and knew exactly what I was buying everyone else. A sensation of smug knowingness washed over me. I was efficient and ahead of everyone else. Bully for me.

4. In November I began looking for a party dress. Major shops in major shopping centres hadn’t got any in. I stormed in and out of boutiques complaining (yes, it had begun) that they weren’t thinking ahead. After all, my work already had a date for the do. Others must also. What was wrong with retailers? Stopped bothering because of the recession? Not everyone wanted to shove and squash about with each other in mid-December when shops could afford to buy dresses because they knew they’d sell them. Tut. Hah.

5. End of November. My moods swung from that odd and inexplicable ‘festive cheer’ (seasonal panic, dread and a strong wish to skip the whole flipping celebration) to an intolerance to anything connected to Christmas. Starting with that appalling Littlewoods commercial (‘Who put an Xbox under the tree? Who put a laptop on Grandpa’s knee? My lovely, lovely muvva…’ – eurrgh, heave.) In other words, let’s overspend (because then my children will love me), hope to pacify them while the grownups get sloshed and then expect gratitude at bedtime. ‘Remember. I’m your lovely, lovely muvva. Who bought you’ (well, borrowed on the never-never) ‘all viss junk at vee end of your bed. Hail, muvva.’ By May when I’m still paying it off, I’ll hate you and your stupid broken gadgets.’ 6. Now, since the start of December I feel like a lunatic. We’re all shopping happily on the whole, starting to think of food and drinks and who’s coming over. If my trolley collides with someone else’s, we smile at each other and apologise. I still have time to chat to people I know. Then I get a wonky trolley three days in a row and I have a shoulder ache which stretches down to my hip because I’m trying to control the damaged thing and get to where I’m going instead of following some other laden vehicle listening to wailing children, announcements and the continuous beep of people self-scanning their stupid shopping. At home I must stop saying how I don’t like Christmas – I have a young daughter who’s naturally thrilled.

7. Today, as I write, I feel self-satisfied. I have not only bought for all family members (except husband – see earlier blog) but have wrapped them all too. (Smugometer needle whizzes round the dial in self-congratulatory spin). I’ve written cards and sent most of them. My good friend in Berlin who always gets his gifts late will have them on time this year. God, how good I’ve been this year. Cards? They’re written, stamped and sent. All of which now gives me the sense that I’m trying to dispose of everything I’ve acquired. Yes, get rid of it all quickly.

8. Soon shoppers will start being abusive and even more aggressive on the roads. (‘It’s MY Christmas. Damn yours!’) All those nice messages I approved in my cards by putting my signature to, are meaningless. I don’t wish you goodwill. Or festive cheer or seasonal good wishes. Get drunk. Have an argument. Burn the turkey. Sulk. I don’t care.

9. For the next week, I’ll hibernate. Stay indoors and think about what to get hubby. It will help me feel calmer and maybe even forget it’s Christmas. This will help because when my daughter breaks up from school, it’ll be planning food, cooking it, making lists and trying to keep the house respectable. The glumness will set in again.

10. This morning, the man in front of me was arguing with the cashier in Tesco. It’s begun. He thought he was due more glass vouchers than he’d been given. For some peace, she gave him some more. I have a feeling he was in the right. She then complained to me that people always wanted to get something for free at Christmas. Leave me out of it. Don’t involve an innocent bystander. Because she couldn’t tell him he was only after free stuff, she told me instead. Deal with it! I’m exasperated with the artificial ‘cheer’ that shops bully into us. And then people follow. ‘Aw, it is Christmas’ So what?

11. Nearly there now. On Christmas Eve, I may start feeling buoyant. But I know I’ll be drained and fatigued.

12. All over now. And at the close of Boxing Day I feel a whole new dread: The New Year.

I feel another list coming on…

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