Stop the press. There’s only 100 days until Christmas.
BASH MY BAUBLES AND CALL ME MARY.
How did that happen?
In 100 days, we’ll be waking up (probably massively hungover after too many ‘festive’ Jagers at the local), tentatively heading downstairs to the living room, and checking to see if ‘he’s been’. ‘He’, being Father Christmas. I absolutely refuse to call him Santa Claus FYI. Just wanted to get that out of the way.
100 days and counting. Good God I’m excited. Is that allowed already? When is it considered ok to get all warm and Christmassy inside? It IS almost October, ish.
I’ve already seen supermarket shelves quietly stacking up with Mince Pies, which is always the first sign of the incoming festive celebrations. It seems to get earlier and earlier each year. What are the rules though? Are there any? Secretly, have Elves made a guide about how to Christmas? (probs with a foreword from Mr FC himself) If they have I want a copy.
I’m convinced there’s a manual, somewhere, about how to deal with the run up to the 25th December. Like a Yuletide Bible. (for some reason as I typed that, I sang it in my head in the tune of ‘Like A Rhinestone Cowboy’). Anyway….
Personally, I’d be filed under the ‘So Christmassy I poop Baubles’ section. I get excited the second someone even utters the ‘C’ word. That word being Christmas. Just for clarification. Even the first sign of aforementioned festively boxed Mince Pies on otherwise dull supermarket shelves excites me.
I love the shop window displays, bedecked in pretty things, the glass chaotically covered in spray on snow and glitter!
The lights on Oxford and Regent Street! Screw the risk of the a national grid malfunction, they’re twinkly, sparkly, and fabulous!
I adore the Christmas Markets! The wooden shacked pop up villages, bursting with gifts, delicious giant Bratwursts in tiny buns (why is that ALWAYS the case?) and bags of cinnamon flavoured, iced Star shaped biscuits!
Oh! The smell of a real Christmas Tree!! That superbly scented 7 footer WILL fit in my Mini, make no mistake. Spending an entire Saturday evening decorating it? Sure. My carefully picked Norweigan non drop may end up looking like Paperchase has vomited on it, but I LOVE it!!
And who could forget the heady aroma of Mulled Wine and Cider? Moreish mugs of alcohol fuelled joy. Best enjoyed in front of a cosy, fairy light trimmed, log fire in a country pub. I’ll have an extra shot of Rum in mine for good measure too thanks. And a bag of Pork Scratchings.
I know others though, who are staunch Scrooges. We all know them. You know, the ones who refuse to even acknowledge the joy of Noel until they have the inevitable post Christmas dinner Turkey Trumps, then promptly fall asleep during Eastenders. (It’s the only festive tv show they’ll watch as the death of a major character is pretty much a given. They like that.)
Even then, they’re so stuck in their miserable ways. They remain convinced that what they’ve had is just a standard Roast Dinner and that the Noel we’re all so joyful about is the one from Hear’Say. Or worse, Edmonds. Ahhh, Scrooges. Literally, squealing little Pigs wrapped in their own Blankets of doom.
There are of course, the inbetweeners. They do Christmas, but only because it’s traditional. They don’t love it. They tolerate it. These are the types who you’ll find lurking around John Lewis hunting for cards and wrapping paper last minute. The ones who wait until Christmas Eve to do all their present buying. The cause of those horrific Lakeside shopping centre queues that stretch all the way past your daily commute on the M25, on CHRISTMAS ACTUAL EVE. These are the ones that make you late for your annual night before Christmas pub sesh. My disdain for these types isn’t quite in the same realm of judgement as the Scrooges, but there’s not much in it. (Sorry Mum, I love you, but this IS you)
Maybe the reason there isn’t a Yuletide Bible of Christmas Code is because we all do it differently? The Lovers aka The Bauble Poopers, the Scrooges, the Inbetweeners, and of course those who don’t celebrate it at all. I guess there’s no rules. As long as we eat, drink, be merry, get a few nice bits and bobs, and of course give thanks to baby Jesus it’s all good.
But, if I’m being sensible, there is the small matter of Autumn to get through first. And, THAT only really started today after those thunderstorms last night. I must admit they were welcome, having personally been mildly perturbed by the sight of pavements awash with freshly popped conkers as I strolled along yesterday in 30c of sunshine. In September. BECAUSE THAT’S NORMAL.
I shall still get excited for Christmas, but maybe more inwardly so. I mean, you may see the odd recipe for festive food popping up on my social media. Perhaps the odd photo of something sparkly. I’ll try and be restrained. Ish.
Oh sod it. I’ll be unbearable by the start of November. Apologies in advance.