Around about this time of year, or at least, a couple of weeks ago when I intended to write this blog post, the humbugs come out. And no, sadly I don’t mean the sort of humbugs you’d find in the glove compartment of your granddad’s car next to the Werthers Original- I mean the Christmas humbugs- the cynics and the Scrooges.
More specifically, I mean those who take to their columns, blogs, megaphones, polite conversation, whatever at this time of year in order to have a jolly good bash at the concept of present buying. Every year they do it. “Nobody understands the real spirit of Christmas any more”, they cry. “Everything is far too commercial”, a particularly dirty word. “We should all just put satsumas in each others’ stockings, say I love you and be done with it”, they shout, defying us to question their obvious logic. Because as we all know, the real meaning of Christmas is actually a Vitamin C laden citrus fruit it’ll take you until New Year to peel.
And at times, it’s easy to see their point. I point blank refuse to go within three quarters of a mile of Oxford Street after about mid November, because frankly, it is a living hell. The seven circles, the Devil himself and whatever monsters and ghouls he keeps down there would be a picnic in comparison with half an hour in M&S on the Saturday before Christmas. It’s easy to wonder, as you’re dodging overbearing mothers in Barbour jackets with umpteen paper bags under each arm shouting “come along Harriet, darling, we must pick up the hummus for Auntie Petunia” in the direction of a bored looking toddler walking at a pace that would embarrass a snail right in front of your feet- if this is what it’s all about. Would the recipient of this particular silk scarf or cheese and chutney hamper really want me to go through all of this for them, in return for a make-up set and fold up shopping bag? Is this really what the festive season is about?
To which I nearly always answer myself with, yes, it bloody well is. Get a grip. This is what we must suffer in order to earn the protective “it’s Christmas I’ll do whatever the sodding hell I like, pass me another profiterole and the Bailey’s bottle” armour. Get all the presents bought, wrap them, cheerfully cover both yourself and your living room in glitter and bits of sellotape, make some vague contribution to the cooking and as far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned every sip of your seventh mulled wine and can sit yourself down to watch Doctor Who on the Big Day without a care in the world. It’s your right.
More importantly than that, despite what the Christmas Critics say, the presents themselves are pretty damn crucial as well. There is no feeling in the world quite like opening a present bought for you by someone you didn’t especially knew cared, only to find they’ve chosen you the perfect gift, something you’ll really love, and will use/wear probably until the next Christmas. Time and effort goes into buying Christmas presents. To succeed, you must consider the person you’re buying for in great detail, their likes, dislikes and personal style. A good present says “I care about you enough to know what you like, and I’ve gone to the trouble of getting it for you”, in a way that a piece of fruit never could. Present givers treat you to things that, especially in this age of austerity*, you’d never think to buy for yourself.
And it’s not about the amount of money spent, either, before the nay-sayers jump down my throat. A well-chosen nail varnish in a favourite shade can cost next to nothing. The same is true of a beloved cooking ingredient, a favourite drink or even something prettily quirky from a local Charity shop. The only thing that really matters, is that it suits the person you’re buying for, and they know that you care. We’re all reminded that we’re loved every time we pull on that Christmas novelty jumper with the fluffy red reindeer nose knitted for us by an elderly relative, every time we eat one of our Secret Santa chocolates from someone in the office or put on a necklace bought by a friend. People can’t always be there to demonstrate their feelings, but a present, an object, doesn’t leave.
All this, and we haven’t even considered the warm candle-like glow we all experience when we know that we ourselves have chosen the perfect gift for someone we love.
If that’s commercialisation, well then I for one am all for it.
x
*far less fun that the Age of Aquarius, I’m told.
Me, Myself And The Others 