Christmas (W)Rapping

I felt the suffocating panic of Christmas looming this week as more and more cards arrived through the letter box from the usual mixture of nice people, daft people, local Indian takeaways and my newspaper delivery girl who, though I’ve never met her, wants me to have Season’s Greetings.

Once upon a time you knew where you were with Christmas cards as they all had a ‘Happy Christmas’ inside, but we now are so wary of upsetting everyone from Zoroastrans to people who don’t want to smile, that we now avoid the mention of Christmas and happiness to avoid any offence. I received a double whammy today with a Season’s Greetings inside a card that wished me a Happy Winterval on the front.

So what is a Season’s Greeting? Would a quick “My it’s cold” do the trick, or is it “I see fuel bills are up?”. There’s also “Got to pay my tax next month”. All these are greetings used frequently at this time of year so it seems to me that Season’s Greetings is a useless non message meaning either nothing at all or, in the case of my newspaper girl, “Don’t forget to tip”.

With all these cards I had to admit that putting Christmas off was no longer an option and I needed to face up to the annual climb in to the loft for the decorations. So, we now have our tree up, the wreath’s on the door with a few sweeties stuck in just in case anyone’s late and confused for Halloween, and my desk is covered in boxes of Christmas cards as I agonise over who will get the whole Bethlehem and Three Wise Men scenario, and who receives Santa relieving himself behind someone’s chimney.

I also started my Christmas shopping and more or less finished it on the same day. But before you despise me for being a right little clever clogs, the truth is I had already done most of my annual present buying online – everyone is getting Viagra, their bank details sent to Nigeria, and a degree from some American university this year – but I had to go out and get one or two personal items.

I knew that the shops would be busy so I was ready for the long queues in some stores which seemed to be selling off their stock, their premises, their staff and their future by desperately throwing stuff at us, most of which looked as if it had first seen the shelves when Santa was an elf. I didn’t know whether to join in and scramble around for bargains as it seemed to be dancing on the graves of the staff who were doing their best to look cheerful, but in the end the bad angel overcame the good one on the other shoulder and I filled my basket.

Joining the lines to pay, I waited for just under an hour in a shop I’ve always liked and I stood chatting to fellow waiters as we made the most of our time. It was a bit like being locked together in a broken down lift but without the worry of enclosed spaces. Or flatulence. After fifty five minutes of pleasant banter we reached the till and, as I went to get my wallet, I discovered I’d left it in my car. I could have cried.

There was one bit of light relief however as, after I came back and rejoined the line, a six or seven year old boy was misbehaving in front of me and, despite pleas from his mum, he just carried on pulling Christmas decorations off the shelves, dancing around madly and colliding with other shoppers while generally being a nuisance. His dad finally managed to control him with a line I wished I’d thought of when my kids were a bit younger. “Stop mucking about”, he said, “or I’ll phone Santa and tell him we’ve moved house”. He was good as gold after that.

As a youngster I loved the wonder of Woolworths, especially on Easter Monday when their Easter eggs were reduced to half price, so I took a nostalgic trip this week to look at their beautiful Christmas decorations hanging from the store’s ceiling. As I read them – Closing Down Sale, Fifty Per Cent Off, We’re All Doomed, Got A Job Going? – I hunted around for one last bargain. If I’d had a couple of pounds more in my wallet I would have taken the special offer of Buy One Store Get One Free, but opted instead for some chocolate.

For some reason, probably one of taste, amongst the rows of empty shelves they still have lots of pink, fluffy, artificial Christmas trees for sale and you can even buy pink fluffy logs to place around them. But, don’t go redecorating just to fit around the pink fluff when you proudly place it in your lounge. Remember, a log is for Christmas, not just for life.

I’m one of the world’s optimists but even I found the Woolworth’s receipts a bit hopeful. Bearing in mind they’re closing after Christmas and going to the great shopping mall in the sky, the receipt I was given proudly boasted that “Christmas gift returns will be refunded from December 28th.”

Christmas shopping has to be done right. It should be done in groups so you can share the pain and, after a few stores, it’s time for a coffee break to regroup, cross things off the list and compare notes. It’s also amazing what you can overhear as other groups go over their lists. “I got your mum those invisible suck in knickers for fat people” was just one, and I can only guess what Christmas morning is going to be like in their house when she opens that. Perhaps she’ll use it to keep the stuffing bound inside the turkey.

I’m off now back to my desk to dream of a few days off next week and to finish writing my Christmas cards. I see that you’re next on the list, so Season’s Greetings.