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Christmas Spirit
I finally realised why I've had such trouble getting into the Christmas spirit. No, it's not my usual 365 days a year cynicism. It's not even Christmas telly. In fact I'm torn between depressed and bouncy at the moment.
I'm bouncy because I just saw some of The Cassandra Crossing. I just love those all-star casts, man. This time I got to see Ava Gardner, Richard Harris and a very young and trendy looking Martin Sheen in the SAME FRAME! Man alive, that's fantastic. It's like watching the Great Escape and realising that James Coburn, Charles Bronson, James Garner and the wondrous Steve McQueen are in the same room. I mean, the only way they could've really improved on that CC scene was to have Dean Martin turn up accompanied by Errol Flynn and Marilyn Monroe. Mind you, if Marilyn and Ava were ever that close together I think the TV would explode- there's only so much beauty a TV can take, you know.
Anyway, that's why I'm bouncy (and because my mam bought lots of confections because it's Christmas). And yet...
Christmas doesn't seem like much of a big deal to me anymore. Maybe it's because since I was 16 I've actually been working on Christmas Eve and the Day itself, taking messages from drunken idiots or giving drunken idiots numbers. So anyway, I was trying to think about why I don't seem to care much about Christmas anymore, or why I don't get excited about it. It's because I'm not a child anymore. Yes, that old Chestnut about not being a kid anymore. It's not really because I've got older, because as anyone will tell you, I'm aiming to stay as immature as possible for as long as I can. No, it's because the rest of the world has changed.
When I was a little girl I was often sick around Christmas time. I'm small and physically quite weak although I had/have an alarming tendency to enjoy getting a good soaking from the rain. So a lot of the time at Christmas I wasn't really that well. And yet I had a better time that now. One year I was so sick that I was put in a chair in our living room and my dad helped me unwrap my presents. I was too sick to even put together my Lego airport set- my dad and little brother did it for me.
Oh, and this year when I sit down to eat my Christmas dinner, there will only be four people at the table. This to me, feels very wrong. You see, ever since I can remember, there have been at least five people. My mum is an only child and her father died before I was even born, so my gran, were she not to come to our house, would have been all alone down in South London. So she would come for Christmas. My other surviving grandparent, my grandad, goes to my Aunt Tina's house for Christmas and comes to us for New Year. About five years ago, my grandmother became ill with something not unlike Alzheimers. She ended up in a home not far from us. But for four and a half years, we could at least go visit her, even if she didn't know who we were. Last March (not the one just gone), she died. Last Christmas, due to probs down at my Aunt Tina's, my grandad came to stay at Christmastime, so I didn't really notice so much that she wasn't there. And for some years, my godfather was our Parish priest and would have Christmas dinner with us once he'd finished work. Crimbo's a busy time for Catholic priests, you know. A couple of years ago he was moved down to Kew and it's too far for him to reasonably come here especially after the busiest few days of the year for him. So this year, there will be four of us. And we will sit around the table pretending that we really want to be there. My brother would much rather be out skateboarding with his mates and his girlfriend. She dresses like a Barbie. V. amusing. My dad will be trying very hard to stop full-scale war breaking out over the Brussel sprouts (which I quite like, actually). My mum will be about to start a full-scale war because she feels like it. And I will be wishing I was watching the movies on Turner Classic Movies. I think Flynn's Robin Hood is on Crimbo Day.
And I will be sitting there remembering the year it actually snowed and I took out my 'sledge'. This was in actual fact a huge orange plastic crate because my mum wasn't about to shell out for a proper sledge for two days snow in a decade. Don't blame her. Besides, the protective walls allowed me to go higher up the hills and faster than everyone else. Ha!
And I will be remembering the time my gran took me and my friend out on our bikes, and Laura fell off. Five years later my gran still asked if 'my little friend was all right'. I will be remembering opening a present to find a My Little Pony stable. I will be remembering playing in our primary school's Christmas plays, and that last year when I was the star- Year Six's Little Red Riding Hood. I will remember the year my dad arrived with my grandad just before New Year to tell me that George Harrison had been stabbed. I will remember my grandad and I watching the Godfather to take my mind off the fact that George might die. I will remember last year, being still depressed because George had just died. I will remember sitting under my desk as a little girl crying because downstairs my gran and mum were arguing with each other. I will remember it because at least she was here. I will remember being so excited just because one of my presents was a Jason Donovan calendar for the coming year.
I will not remember last year, when I got back from California just to argue, receive a box of Tottenham Hotspur chocolates (gee thanks) and gain jetlag in the process. I will not remember last year's Only Fools And Horses episode, which was the least funny in the show's long, prestigious, hilarious history.
Christmas was more fun when I was a kid, not because I actually got presents I liked, not because I was less cynical, but because I suppose it really felt like something for my family to do. Christmas was more fun because my granny was there to take me for a walk in the frost, because I would actually get excited because Grease II was one, because the Top of the Pops Christmas Special wasn't an excuse for me to get on my Pop Music Industry Hell soapbox. Because I really believed in goodwill to all men, because I wasn't aware of what mad scheme world politicians had to get us into a war.
Maybe it is because I'm more cynical. Maybe because the idea of spending a whole day with my family doesn't so much fill me with joy as wonder where I put my anti-riot flak jacket.
But on the very bright side- lots of good movies on, even some good telly programmes and if it gets really bad, I can just shout at them to shut up and go listen to Thin Lizzy and write stuff. And one day, hopefully not too long from now, I'll wake up on Christmas morning and feel happy and excited instead of sad and deflated. If not, would Clarence the Angel please come down and show me what an ungrateful little bint I am?
And I mean this most sincerely: Merry Christmas to all and Happy Holidays! I can't remember who said this, but it takes a great deal of courage to see the world in all it's tarnished beauty and still love it. Oscar Wilde, I think. He was right. The world is beautiful, if tarnished. We should remember that and try to keep it as beautiful as possible. And I suppose that's what Christmas is really about, right?
I'm bouncy because I just saw some of The Cassandra Crossing. I just love those all-star casts, man. This time I got to see Ava Gardner, Richard Harris and a very young and trendy looking Martin Sheen in the SAME FRAME! Man alive, that's fantastic. It's like watching the Great Escape and realising that James Coburn, Charles Bronson, James Garner and the wondrous Steve McQueen are in the same room. I mean, the only way they could've really improved on that CC scene was to have Dean Martin turn up accompanied by Errol Flynn and Marilyn Monroe. Mind you, if Marilyn and Ava were ever that close together I think the TV would explode- there's only so much beauty a TV can take, you know.
Anyway, that's why I'm bouncy (and because my mam bought lots of confections because it's Christmas). And yet...
Christmas doesn't seem like much of a big deal to me anymore. Maybe it's because since I was 16 I've actually been working on Christmas Eve and the Day itself, taking messages from drunken idiots or giving drunken idiots numbers. So anyway, I was trying to think about why I don't seem to care much about Christmas anymore, or why I don't get excited about it. It's because I'm not a child anymore. Yes, that old Chestnut about not being a kid anymore. It's not really because I've got older, because as anyone will tell you, I'm aiming to stay as immature as possible for as long as I can. No, it's because the rest of the world has changed.
When I was a little girl I was often sick around Christmas time. I'm small and physically quite weak although I had/have an alarming tendency to enjoy getting a good soaking from the rain. So a lot of the time at Christmas I wasn't really that well. And yet I had a better time that now. One year I was so sick that I was put in a chair in our living room and my dad helped me unwrap my presents. I was too sick to even put together my Lego airport set- my dad and little brother did it for me.
Oh, and this year when I sit down to eat my Christmas dinner, there will only be four people at the table. This to me, feels very wrong. You see, ever since I can remember, there have been at least five people. My mum is an only child and her father died before I was even born, so my gran, were she not to come to our house, would have been all alone down in South London. So she would come for Christmas. My other surviving grandparent, my grandad, goes to my Aunt Tina's house for Christmas and comes to us for New Year. About five years ago, my grandmother became ill with something not unlike Alzheimers. She ended up in a home not far from us. But for four and a half years, we could at least go visit her, even if she didn't know who we were. Last March (not the one just gone), she died. Last Christmas, due to probs down at my Aunt Tina's, my grandad came to stay at Christmastime, so I didn't really notice so much that she wasn't there. And for some years, my godfather was our Parish priest and would have Christmas dinner with us once he'd finished work. Crimbo's a busy time for Catholic priests, you know. A couple of years ago he was moved down to Kew and it's too far for him to reasonably come here especially after the busiest few days of the year for him. So this year, there will be four of us. And we will sit around the table pretending that we really want to be there. My brother would much rather be out skateboarding with his mates and his girlfriend. She dresses like a Barbie. V. amusing. My dad will be trying very hard to stop full-scale war breaking out over the Brussel sprouts (which I quite like, actually). My mum will be about to start a full-scale war because she feels like it. And I will be wishing I was watching the movies on Turner Classic Movies. I think Flynn's Robin Hood is on Crimbo Day.
And I will be sitting there remembering the year it actually snowed and I took out my 'sledge'. This was in actual fact a huge orange plastic crate because my mum wasn't about to shell out for a proper sledge for two days snow in a decade. Don't blame her. Besides, the protective walls allowed me to go higher up the hills and faster than everyone else. Ha!
And I will be remembering the time my gran took me and my friend out on our bikes, and Laura fell off. Five years later my gran still asked if 'my little friend was all right'. I will be remembering opening a present to find a My Little Pony stable. I will be remembering playing in our primary school's Christmas plays, and that last year when I was the star- Year Six's Little Red Riding Hood. I will remember the year my dad arrived with my grandad just before New Year to tell me that George Harrison had been stabbed. I will remember my grandad and I watching the Godfather to take my mind off the fact that George might die. I will remember last year, being still depressed because George had just died. I will remember sitting under my desk as a little girl crying because downstairs my gran and mum were arguing with each other. I will remember it because at least she was here. I will remember being so excited just because one of my presents was a Jason Donovan calendar for the coming year.
I will not remember last year, when I got back from California just to argue, receive a box of Tottenham Hotspur chocolates (gee thanks) and gain jetlag in the process. I will not remember last year's Only Fools And Horses episode, which was the least funny in the show's long, prestigious, hilarious history.
Christmas was more fun when I was a kid, not because I actually got presents I liked, not because I was less cynical, but because I suppose it really felt like something for my family to do. Christmas was more fun because my granny was there to take me for a walk in the frost, because I would actually get excited because Grease II was one, because the Top of the Pops Christmas Special wasn't an excuse for me to get on my Pop Music Industry Hell soapbox. Because I really believed in goodwill to all men, because I wasn't aware of what mad scheme world politicians had to get us into a war.
Maybe it is because I'm more cynical. Maybe because the idea of spending a whole day with my family doesn't so much fill me with joy as wonder where I put my anti-riot flak jacket.
But on the very bright side- lots of good movies on, even some good telly programmes and if it gets really bad, I can just shout at them to shut up and go listen to Thin Lizzy and write stuff. And one day, hopefully not too long from now, I'll wake up on Christmas morning and feel happy and excited instead of sad and deflated. If not, would Clarence the Angel please come down and show me what an ungrateful little bint I am?
And I mean this most sincerely: Merry Christmas to all and Happy Holidays! I can't remember who said this, but it takes a great deal of courage to see the world in all it's tarnished beauty and still love it. Oscar Wilde, I think. He was right. The world is beautiful, if tarnished. We should remember that and try to keep it as beautiful as possible. And I suppose that's what Christmas is really about, right?
no subject
Merry Christmas! May you make new, happy, warm memories for this season.
More hugs,
Elia