Oh, How We Suffer!

So, we have survived the last week of cold weather and snow. Here in Nottingham, nestled as we are in the warm bosom of the cosseted Midlands, we rarely get extreme conditions - and so it proved to be this time. Other parts of the country suffered far worse disruption than we did, with much heavier falls of snow. I delight in this privilege; although I appear to be in the minority in this, if the comments on Facebook are anything to go by. It would seem that nearly everyone was hoping for a bigger dump of snow than we actually received, and most were expressing childlike joy when the first flakes appeared from the sky, followed by miserable disappointment when the first covering was deemed as insufficient, and when the second covering disappeared within a few wet hours. Don't get me wrong - I do find snow to be visually appealing, and of course it is most welcome when I've spent money on travelling to Europe for a skiing holiday - but when business has to be conducted, snow is an absolute pain in the neck.

However, there is another area of winter life from which even here in the Midlands we cannot escape; and one which for me is even more difficult to endure. I'm talking about the Festival of Christmas. I hate the whole thing and only ever used to acquiesce to its pervasive presence in the past because it meant that I would get a week off work (in the old days, when I used to work for a living, that is). Apart from that, as far as I am concerned, the entire event is an unwelcome and unnecessary inconvenience . That the whole laborious process begins in early November is an even bigger irritant - it's as if people have nothing better to do than to wish part of their year away. Messages appearing on Facebook immediately after Bonfire Night such as: "Only eight weeks to go until the big day!" or "Wooh! Heard Christmas Carols in the Broadmarsh today! Yey!" are pure anathema to me. Then we get the endless pressure to spend more than we ought to; the shops start filling up with mindless vulgar crowds from early December; invitations to more and more pointless festive functions start flooding in; and then worst of all - we are continually exhorted to 'cheer up', because it's "Christmas".

Cheer up? Why should the impending arrival of some futile commercial festival, totally lacking in taste and sensibility, induce us to 'cheer up'? December is always a busy time for me anyway, so the last thing I need is more pressure piling on - pressure to buy Christmas cards and presents; pressure to plan menus and shopping; pressure to clean my apartment in readiness for entertaining the many visitors who will descend upon me. There is nothing 'cheerful' about any of this - it all represents nothing more than a burden of disagreeable chores in my view. And for what? Christmas means nothing to me - even the Christians don't know what it's all about anymore. It's just an excuse to be over-indulgent, over-sentimental and over-excited.

However, there is a tiny twinkle of clemency for all of this - something that has slowly crept up on me, unspoken. My two lovely daughters will be spending the holiday with me this year. Arriving on Christmas Eve, they will stay with me here in the apartment and we shall be spending the 'Big Day' here together. This will be truly delightful - even though they might be disappointed by the total lack of Christmas decorations (I won't be putting them up), we will nevertheless ensconce ourselves within these four walls, eat, drink and play backgammon, or some similar diversion. We shall no doubt have champagne in the morning, and whisky with The Queen on Radio 4. I might even buy some crackers - the sort that go with cheese, that is, not the sort you pull open in order to make yourself look ridiculous in a flimsy paper hat, or delight in a plastic water-pistol (that doesn't work) and a cheap, tacky joke.

This year (2010) has been particularly unpleasant for me so far - and its final closing cloak of despair (December) couldn't really be any worse. All I have to do though, is to shut my eyes, hold on tight, and wait for the arrival of my girls. Ooh, I'm getting quite excited about it after all!

All together now: "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...."