As December arrives, the familiar weight of festive expectation settles in. There's pressure to visit Bath's markets, wear gaudy jumpers, host parties, and project unbridled joy. This year, however, a different approach is taking hold for many, driven by changing circumstances and a desire to move forward by looking back.
The Tyranny of the 'Perfect' Christmas
One year, a friend became consumed by the need to give everyone "the perfect day." When I suggested that Christmas is just another day, only with gravy boats, the reaction was as if I had personally offended Santa Claus. The conversation spiralled into debates about matching pyjamas and the merits of milk in mulled wine for teetotallers. Let's be clear: this isn't about hating Christmas. It's about questioning the immense pressure we put on a single day in a futile attempt to recapture a magic that often lives more vividly in our memories.
A Feast of Fond Memories
The real joy for many lies in reminiscing about simpler, more authentic festive experiences. This includes the prickly feel of real tinsel and glitter that ended up everywhere. It's about paper chains joined with a lick, the specific disappointment of never receiving a Mr Frosty, and learning Jingle Bells badly on the recorder. It's the collective wait for the Christmas No. 1 in 1977, only for it to be Mull of Kintyre, or recalling other chart-toppers like 'There's No One Quite Like Grandma' (1980) or Bob the Builder's 'Can We Fix It?' in 2000. These personal rituals, from shaking presents to watching Morecambe and Wise together, often hold more meaning than today's curated perfection.
Letting Go and Inventing Anew
This year, circumstances are forcing a break from the script for many. The relentless checklist—shopping, cards, wrapping, office parties, and the perfectly moist turkey—is being abandoned. There's a conscious rejection of Christmas lifestyle envy. An anecdote about a rock-hard homemade Christmas cake, left untouched by builders because "Big Nige has only got the three teeth left," perfectly illustrates the sometimes misguided effort we expend.
So, if you're inventing new traditions, here are some liberating ideas to remember:
- You can burn cinnamon candles at ANY time of year.
- You can passionately debate whether Die Hard is a true Christmas film.
- You can buy yourself a chocolate Advent calendar and eat it in the supermarket car park.
- You can have a heated argument about the best selection box: Quality Street, Celebrations, or Heroes.
- You can randomly shout "FIVE! GOLD! RINGS!" just for fun.
Most importantly, you can always tell your family you love them—and you don't have to wait until December 25th to do it. This year, the greatest gift might just be the permission to celebrate the season on your own, simpler terms, trading exhaustion for genuine contentment.
