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Amongst many of my colleagues in the comedy fraternity, Christmas is nothing more than a target for ridicule, a plastic orgy of commercialism and insincerity. But how easy it is to mock religious festivals; and anyway, most of those comedians will go home to revel in the Christmas carnival, no matter how tacky it is, and return the obligatory five kilos heavier.
I personally find myself groaning and gritting my teeth in the start of November when the first hints of Christmas pop out at the supermarket. Why?
Hard to say really. Perhaps because I’ve always despised being told how I should feel, particularly by commercial media. No, I won’t be joyous just because you want me to. All the same, I do like the idea of being full of cheer. It sounds far more realistic than joy, wonder or merriment. “Cheers” we British based folk say as we clink glasses in the hope that life will improve or at least not get any worse.
Really though, what bothers me most about Christmas is the mass of things – it’s the objects to which I object. Glittery boxes, cardboard santas pulling reindeers, plastic holly, fake snow, fruit cakes and bulging bags. It’s all so excessive, so fat. And the presents! I can’t recall a single year (apart from when I was nine and my father bought me a foam surfboard) when I perused my presents and thought ‘Wow, what a haul!’. The most useful present I’ve received was a book on feng shui simply because I was able to make a joke about how it didn’t come with instructions as to which part of the house to put it, and therefore I threw it in the bin. Boom boom!
For many years now my family has had an under ten dollar rule (amongst adults) which was great when ten dollars was of some value. Nowadays we either cheat or hand each other something utterly stupid like another pair of plastic salad tongs or a paper weight that doubles as a reading glasses holder! And whenever I actually do stick to the ten dollar rule I find myself going out to buy about 130 dollars worth of rubbish only to receive my very own pile of rubbish worth way less.
One year I’d like to say, “OK, how about we do stuff rather than give stuff” and see what happens. Everyone has some kind of ability or skill. OK if it means making a present, that’s great, although I wish my brother-in-law would make something other strawberry jam, I now have a backlog. No really, wouldn’t it be great to have your gutters cleaned, a garden bed dug, your favourite old shirt repaired, the car cleaned, a baby sat, a song sung, a lawn mowed, a neck massaged, a path swept, a pavement painted, a head of hair cut, a dog washed or a story told; and from non-relatives who are cute something saucy like a striptease late at night to whatever piece of music you choose.
Speaking of which, most carols are hideous but not all of them. Silent Night is beautiful, and even better when it’s mimed with no sound, just suggestive actions (try it sometime). Come All Ye Faithful is pretty, and The Feast Of Steven is listenable. Actually the general theatre of Christmas can be funny. A journo friend told me a story about a supermarket in South Korea where the Christmas message got a little mixed by some Korean window dresser. My friend walked into the supermarket to find Santa nailed to a cross! One can only wonder what they’ll do in April: the Easter bunny rising from the dead?
But anyway, cheer it should be – as best as one can do. No more than that. None of this ‘love everyone’ or ‘forgive everyone’ or ‘fill everyone with joy’ crap! It’s just too much to ask. When we’re told how to behave, isn't it delightful to do the opposite. That’s why so many family rows occur at Christmas. Just as things are so much funnier when we attempt to suppress laughter, spite and hate can really fill a room when we’re told to act ‘nice’.
So, this Christmas….cheers to you all.
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