I hate to be the total cliché, but I fricken’ love Christmas.It’s just the general atmosphere, the world seems nicer, more pleasant and kind. I always feel that good-will-to-all-man-kind thing that they talk about in movies. And for someone who runs a political blog where the majority of my content is rants about the things that I dislike about our society, that’s saying something.
I guess I’ve kind of viewed Christmas as a switch off time. From Christmas Eve to New Years Day is my time off to spend with my family, not fighting injustice or campaigning for something or other.
Our Christmas traditions are pretty normal, I think. We always open one small gift on Christmas Eve, my mum picks which one. When we were little, it was always Christmas PJs, so we could wear them to bed that night. When we got older, it was things like bits of jewellery. But mum always picked.
Christmas day had a strict schedule. Because everything’s better when it’s organised! (Life motto – organise, organise, organise.)
We’d d get up at 8 am or so, and mum had to be the first one in the living room. Once she’d sat down, we were allowed to open presents.
This started with stockings, which were filled with chocolate, jewellery, make up and perfume. Everything a girl needs (under capitalism. Sorry I’ll stop now.)
After opening everything my mum cooked us breakfast , in the form of an Ulster Fry. One of my biggest gripes about moving to England is your disappointing cooked breakfasts. An Ulster Fry is sausages, bacon, fried egg, potato bread, soda bread, and baked beans. Optionally you can also have mushrooms and a fried tomato. Lots of carbs there.
Being a vegetarian I would have a veggie friendly version of this, which just replaced the meat with Quorn alternatives.
Not long after breakfast my granny would pop round, and despite knowing exactly what we did that morning as it was the same layout every Christmas morning, she would ask us for a detailed recount of our day up until the point of her arrival.
The Wizard of Oz is a Christmas day staple for me. No matter what anyone else says, it is the best film of all time. Ever. No arguments.
While my sister and I were being quizzed by the family matriarch and watching Judy Garland turn technicolour and wish for home, my mum would be busying herself in the kitchen with Christmas dinner. The poor woman had to essentially cook three dinners, as I’m veggie, and my step–dad likes a full steak dinner on Christmas Day. She had to cook these specific requests on top of a traditional Christmas dinner, with all the trimmings.
What a champion.
As we don’t have a dinning table, dinner is eaten on our knees, in front of the telly, while we watch Mrs. Brown’s boys.
After dinner, by which point I’m usually a little bit tipsy, (and by that I mean drunk,) as Christmas is the one day where I feel I can really justify drinking from breakfast right through, my dad would come and pick me and my sister up, and we’d spend a few days with him. My granny and granda on that side have everyone around to there’s on Boxing Day, and we’re a large Irish family. The house is coming down with cousins.
But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t get to see my family as often anymore, not since I moved to England, and although Christmas is a bit manic with visits and schedules and lots of people, (and I’m usually not all that fond of lots of people,) but at Christmas, well, it does feel truly wonderful to have those you love around you. And to observe all of those little things that make our family Christmas, our family Christmas.
Good-will-to-all-man-kind, and all that jazz.