We all see the world differently. We live inside our own heads. I don't know about you, but for me, Christmas time is always a time of strange feelings. As I write this the holiday season is all but over. There are still fairy lights hanging in doorways, but I suspect most of these will have disappeared by the coming weekend - to be returned to their boxes and dusty storage for the next forty eight weeks or so.
I sometimes wonder how many people would go completely insane if there were many more times during the year in which we could do little other than reflect. How much has my life changed in the last twelve months? Was this a better Christmas than last year? Have I moved on? Will I make it to next year?
I, like many other paranoid souls, wonder about these things, as if Christmas is so huge an event that the whole rest of the years happenings must revolve around it. And yet, for many, it will be a long forgotten day by the end of January. Maybe some of this is down to the fact we in Britain enjoy a seasonal weather pattern that almost cries for routine. I use the term 'enjoy' somewhat tentatively. This year we have had nothing but rain and strong winds, causing terrible flooding in some parts of the country. But on the whole, the winter months create a strange kind of brooding atmosphere, which has usually been captured best by writers of darker classic fiction. Charles Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol' is essentially a ghost story as we know, evoking chill nights and dark unwelcoming streets - not to mention the plight of the poor Cratchit family, who surely must have embodied the state of many families in those days.
Somewhere in the Yuletide mix are other characters of course: Santa Claus - that strange, magical old man who circumnavigates the entire world by reindeer drawn sleigh (in one night mind you), delivers presents to all the children, eats copious amounts of mince pies, drinks milk (and maybe a sherry or two), before disappearing back to his lair at the North Pole. Oh yes, there's a lot to like here for writers of a weird tale or two. He has his elves . . . those munchkinesque 'employees' who always have the skills necessary to source any item a child might desire. No more carving and painting wooden toys for these guys. Our kids have moved on, become hi-tech. Now it's laptop computers on the list, an XBox One at a price. Just who is this guy who has been granted control over the laws of physics for a few hours? We put complete trust in this person, even encourage our children to believe in him (sorry kids, spoiler alert!) Of course we may be less eager to send them into the grotto of a store hired charlatan; a mere temporary blip, masquerading as the man with the bag. And real Santa always seems to get away with far more than any other stranger where our children are concerned. We accept him as good and kind - a friend to us and provider of treats for children. Normally, we tend to trust no one - not unless legend labels them as safe, or they wear a big red coat. Rather a big responsibility for those who are employed to understudy for the big man, don't you think?
Christmas can be quite bizarre.
The shopping build up starts somewhere around the last week in October, when the retail machine begins to gather steam for the big push. I, in the meantime, always try to do my level best to not get caught up in the so called excitement. Of course, we all know this relentless monster is being driven to a commercial end. That's probably why Christmas feels more 'over with' by Boxing Day than it might do if we lived in the middle of some remote field called 'nowhere'.
Then again, I have to admit to feeling a certain dusting of magic as the season approaches, which is far more evident in the build up than on the day itself. So,what did I do this year? After waking up alone in a hotel room, I wandered a lonely country road before enjoying a very agreeable lunch by the grace of my brother and his wife. It was an excellently prepared feast. Despite the good cheer, however, I could still feel the Christmas magic slipping at the passing of each minute.
In fact, I spoke to more people who felt deflated by the time it got to Boxing day than I think I've ever done. In some cases there was no particular reason for this. I'll wager it was because they, like me, had been swept down the river of euphoria, to a level that simply could not be maintained once the 'big day' had passed.
I'm not saying we should live in a cocoon of idealism either. This world would feel like a terrible place if you watched more than one news bulletin a day. Your world view might be equally as poorly influenced if you were bombarded with seasonal cheer for a seemingly endless time - to find the Yuletide door slamming behind you as you look desperately for the one marked 'Boxing Day'. We don't go nuts like this over other holidays - we just enjoy the break. The ramping up of pressure, buying gifts, making sure the larder is bursting at the seams (as if the shops are closing for a month), all must serve to send us into minor insanity. And then there's that guy whose birthday it's supposed to be. What's his name again? Oh yes, that's it . . . Jesus.
Where on earth has he gone all of a sudden. A modern English Christmas is not about the saviour any longer (if it ever was), although the yearly school nativity play is hanging on by the skin of it's teeth. We are so politically aware - and so embracing of every culture that we're afraid of keeping our own traditions - and our own faith, it seems. It looks as if Britain is moving yet more toward secularism. In time, we may have to forget the three wise men and just settle for repeats of rubbish Christmas television, Santa and his elves. One thing's for sure; the big man will have to cut down on the yearly intake of pies and coke. That may be a little difficult for him, seeing as he is obviously contracted to advertise 'the real thing' every year! Well, I suppose we all have to earn a crust . . .
He's still got years to go before he can finally claim his pension.
