It’s a quandry. Well, more than a quandry, Christmas is crap, but what to do about it?
At four o’clock on Christmas Eve, the Temple of the Trafford Centre car park is still stuffed. The happy worshippers throng around the wailing walls of Apple and Nike and Nintendo. Shop assistants busy themselves with Sales and Reduced stickers, preparing for the Feast of the Discount 24 hours hence.
On Christmas Day 5 million believers tap into their online bibles just in case they have missed that extra 5% or Bogof deal.
5 million festive folk?? What? That’s more than attended Church.
The Church of the Internet. So what is Christmas? One giant con. One single spend.
Credit crunch, pas de tout, credit card meltdown.
All day the oven wheezed under the strain of puddings and pans and roasts and the fridge sighed back. The table immaculately finished in silver hosted a huddle of expectant guests. And then, half an hour later it was over. Done, until next time.
Gluttons, cuckoos, baying herds of chomping locusts.
Consume and die suckers.
I will not be held ransom to this next year.
That’s my New Year’s Resolution… Pull a great big festive moony to the most wanted toy, the top voted mince pie and the best decorated tree.
What should I do instead?
Late Fragment by Ray Carver
And did you get what
you wanted from this life even so?
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
The room is a crush of colour.
The tree, mauve and coral and the garland wilting evergreen.
But the oranges, the oranges are quite orange.
Segmented by the rough crumble of cloves in arcs.
FOR SALE: poetry fridge magnet set, red hat scarf glove set, two chocolate oranges, loaf tin, and magical mystery prize…. all proceeds to what??? Suggestions on postcard please…