Temple A Very British Christmas

Main
ISBN: 978-1-80546-405-1
Verlag: Allen & Unwin
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 208 Seiten

The ultimate showcase of the quirks, mishaps and traditions that define British life, all rolled into one bonkers season. Christmas, as we all know, is a minefield. What the hell do you buy your mother-in-law? How to deal with the inevitable arguments provoked by a simple game of Monopoly? And where should you sit at the dining table to best avoid Grandad when he starts going off about politics? From navigating the awkwardness of marrying into a Presents After Dinner family to the terrors of staying in someone else's house (especially when they have a weak flush), Very British Problems creator Rob Temple is here to ensure you'll be invited back next year.

Rob Temple, the man behind Very British Problems, is a Cambridge-based journalist who started @soverybritish in December 2012, and now has over 5M followers across Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. Crippled by social anxiety, he enjoys writing about being awkward because it's therapeutic to read comments which assure him that he's very far from alone when it comes to awkward behaviour.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Temple, Rob

Leseproben

1

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

(even though it’s still summer)

—Every adult Brit in the country, every single year

If you’ve received this book as a Christmas gift (lucky you), then it’s probably actually Christmas, and I’m probably just a bit too late to help you (this year, anyway) to avoid most of the festive migraines you’re currently experiencing (in which case, maybe just take some Nurofen or something?). But let’s be honest – Christmas started a while ago. In fact, it began, as is the norm these days, well before December. By August, those tubs of chocolates – your Roses, Quality Street, Celebrations, Heroes et al. – have slowly wormed their way into shops. Once autumn arrives, they start to accumulate in towering stacks, ominously edging towards the end of aisles, harbingers of the looming festive chaos.

Before you can even put on your first scarf of autumn, your mum’s already asking, ‘Where will you be this year?’ as she sets the dining table and frets about how big a turkey to order (she’ll order the same size – i.e. big turkey-size – regardless of whether you’re there or not). Long before Bonfire Night, you’ll receive your first unsolicited festive-themed newsletter from a company you bought exactly one thing from eight years ago. And, of course, your workplace will gently nudge you to fill out a form asking if you’ll be having ‘turkey and trimmings’ or ‘mushroom wellington’ for the office party months in advance.

How does this happen? One minute you’re sipping Pimm’s, watching Wimbledon, and the next… – another And it’s still a shock every year, truth be told.

You try to resist the Christmas creep.* You tut at the mince pies in M&S as you push your trolley past, still piled high with ice lollies (but, let’s be honest, you’ll sneak back for a pack of six ‘deep-filled, best ever’ ones for your next cup of tea). You roll your eyes at early festive-themed social media posts and huff, ‘We haven’t even had Halloween yet!’ You genuinely feel sorry for the poor souls working in retail, who must endure Michael Bublé crooning ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’ on a loop for five solid months. Inevitably, some annoyingly organised person will announce in October, with a grin that makes you want to throw a trifle at them, that they’ve already started (or even finished!) their Christmas shopping. As someone who typically begins gift hunting in mid-December, this announcement makes me recoil in horror like a startled whelk. Indeed, like trying to hold back a tsunami with a cake fork, resistance is futile: Christmas is now a half-year event, whether you’re ready or not.

It’s not just here in the UK, either; it’s all over the world. The US is probably to blame. At least they have Thanksgiving to serve as a barrier, but I think the Philippines might have us beaten with the world’s longest official Christmas season. It starts on 1 September! When I asked a friend from the Philippines, ‘When exactly is Christmas back home?’ his response was simple: ‘Any month with a ‘ber’ in it.’ In contrast, Japan celebrates Christmas in a short but sweet window from 23 to 25 December, which sounds ideal to me.

But here we are, stuck in dreary old Britain (and you’re only allowed to call it dreary if you’re British, by the way). So, what’s a person to do about the ever-encroaching Christmas madness? Well, I see it as a five-stage process…

The Five Stages of Grief: Christmas Creep Edition

Denial: ‘No, No, NO! It’s not Christmas yet!’

You’ve just bought your first packet of burgers for a barbecue, and there it is: a tub of Quality Street, right next to the disposable grills. You shake your head and mutter, ‘This isn’t happening. We’ve only just finished Easter!’ Time to implement : pretend it’s actually not happening at all. Pop in your headphones, crank up ‘Summertime’ by DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince (back when Will Smith was known for rapping, not slapping), and loop it until the clocks go back. If you’re lucky, you might make it to November before anyone dares mention ‘Good King Wenceslas’ (whoever he is).

Anger: ‘WHY IS EVERYONE SO OBSESSED WITH BLOODY CHRISTMAS?!’

By now, the Christmas creep is impossible to ignore, and you’re feeling personally attacked. You rant about consumerism, even though you’re a fan of Amazon Prime and get deliveries daily.* Enter scoff at anyone who dares utter the C-word and declare that anyone who puts up their tree before December is out of their mind. You decide you’ll wear a black T-shirt as your ‘Christmas jumper’ and loudly declare, ‘Don’t get me anything this year!’ Then, of course, end up secretly upset when no one gets you anything.

Bargaining: ‘Okay, fine, but just one mince pie, but only because you’re having one, all right?’

You start to break. You think, maybe Christmas isn’t so bad. You tell yourself, ‘I’ll just have one mince pie,’ but suddenly you’re standing in front of a fully stocked Christmas aisle, trolley piled with Yule logs and Stilton. Maybe you’ll put a few decs up after all… just a few ornaments here and there. And why not the lights, too? They do look nice. You start to convince yourself that the only way to survive this madness is to give in. And before you know it, you’ve caught yourself humming ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ in the first week of November.

Depression: ‘Actually, I’m getting a bit sick of it now.’

The Christmas machine is now in full swing. Decorations in shops, Christmas music on every corner. The initial high you got in stage three has faded. It’s wearing you down now. Why can’t Christmas just go away? The creep has won again. Maybe it’s time to accept that your life is now a never-ending cycle of Christmas. After a brief period of melancholia, the kicks in. Your tree goes up the day after Remembrance Day and you find yourself tossing mini beige breaded snacks into the air fryer with abandon every time you hear Mariah Carey belt out the word ‘I.’ You even start saying, ‘Oh, just a few bits and bobs left to get!’ when people ask if you’re ready for Christmas, even though you have still to tackle. There’s no stopping it, so you might as well embrace it. Which leads to…

Acceptance: ‘Well… I guess it’s Christmas then.’

You’ve finally accepted the Christmas creep and you’re okay with it – well, mostly. Your tree is up. The Christmas playlist is on repeat. And although the crowds in town still make you want to scream, there’s a part of you that’s kind of… enjoying it. After all, this is just the new normal. You lean in, take a deep breath (and undo your belt at the same time) and grab another individually wrapped chocolate. It’s bloody Christmas, mate – might as well enjoy it!

Okay, But Who’s to Blame for the Christmas Creep?

—Katharine Whitehorn

So who’s to blame for the Christmas creep? Well, the shops, you might not be surprised to hear.

The term was coined in the shoulder-padded 1980s, a time renowned for all things consumption. Not just the decade of the England football team being punched out of the World Cup by a tiny Argentine hand, but the era of Walkmans and battery-powered toys. A time of dramatic technological advancements, rampant advertising, the rise of credit cards and personal debt, and the rapid expansion of shopping centres. Mix that storm together in one overstuffed teacup and you’ve got Yuletide sweeping towards us earlier each year. And again, thanks to the shops, Christmas doesn’t just start earlier – it ends later. I even bought a packet of Christmas cards in January – JANUARY! – because they were £3.50 down to 25p (and I’ve just looked at them properly and realised they say 2024 on the front, so that’s great). I also bought a big reindeer made of felt for 50 per cent off in B&Q.

In fact, this Christmas creep phenomenon existed well before the 1980s. People had been noticing and complaining about it for decades before. In 1947, H. Earl Garzee wrote to the in Wisconsin, saying, ‘We see these decorations a month and a half before the holiday arrives, and when it finally does, we’re so sick and tired of the lights and trimmings that we barely notice them. The whole atmosphere feels dull at a time it should be cheerful.’ Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It reminds me a bit of the letter I wrote to my local M&S last year, asking, ‘Please can you stop selling...