I am in no position to moan about Christmas. On the contrary, I have had a wonderful lead up to the festive season which, considering I work in retail and have a two year old, wasn't exactly how I imagined it.
This year I have been one of those annoying people who is super organised and got all the gift shopping done early, all the food shopping frozen and was able to tell a manic mother-in-law (who phoned Christmas Eve to see if there was anything we needed while she dashed out to the shops) that there was nothing we'd forgotten.
That has not always been the case.
I can remember staring at the rows of empty shelves in our local Spa where the bread should have been (I'd been hoping to get a pack of bread buns - they didn't even have a stale pitta) and wondering how I could improvise turkey sandwiches when all I had was the turkey.
I can remember going for a drink on the afternoon of Christmas Eve one year only to leave the pub in a blind panic convinced I had left the oven on (which I had - with the turkey in it)
I once ate my Christmas dinner off an ironing board, as we had no dining table.
This to me, is part of the charm of Christmas. People get hung up on making things perfect, on striving to find the perfect gifts, the perfect turkey, the perfect napkins and the perfect centre piece for their perfect table. They drive themselves into a frenzy, rushing to the shops to buy more than they need, and certainly more than they can afford, in order to appease some festive demon who always whispers not enough.
My Christmases are different.
We buy presents, not as many as we used to as more and more of our friends and relatives have joined the no present pact. We enjoy turkey and stuffing sandwiches on Christmas Eve and a fabulous turkey dinner (with all the trimmings) on the day itself. I have even been known to have Slade playing in the background as I give my roasties a shake.
A little Christmas cheese is often unavoidable.
The self-imposed stress, however, is. Does it actually matter if you haven't got enough dinner plates or champagne flutes? Will Auntie Pam mind eating hers off a plastic plate with the face of a cheeky monkey peering at her through the sprouts? Does grandad complain about having a deckchair? Or being sat next to second nephew on a barstool? Or are they just glad to be around family and friends who actually want their company?
We told everyone this year, don't bother buying us gifts, just come and see us. Bring a bottle of wine or a bag of Doritos if you must bring something and you'll be welcomed with open arms.
Christmas isn't about the ridiculous amounts of cash we fling at people in lieu of genuine affection. It isn't about being cooped up in a strange house with twelve grumpy and flatulent people who you haven't seen since, well, last Christmas (for a damn good reason) It isn't about settling old scores.
Christmas, for me, has become a beacon of hope in a drab and dreary year. It is the one day we were guaranteed off together (is was not always so - bloody call centres!) It is about spending quality time with our little girl who we have not broken the bank to please. Who cares if we didn't have mountains of presents? Who cares that our tree came out of a box? Who cares that I couldn't drink the bottle of wine given to us for Christmas day because I was on penicillin for a throat infection? We were together.
The highlight of my Christmas 2008?
Taking our little girl around the block on Christmas afternoon on her new pink bike. To most folk Christmas is expensive. To me, it's priceless.
