It’s November 3, and I’ve just left the pharmacy. Along with the routine prescription and a smelly candle, I left the building with a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
I was back sitting at my desk before I realised that – much to my annoyance – the tune I’d been humming on the way up the stairs was none other than Silent Night. And it didn’t come out of nowhere.
Most former retail workers, and many current ones, are all too familiar with that dull sense of Groundhog Day that accompanies the dusting down of the dreaded Christmas soundtrack. Mostly, it doesn’t air until after Halloween, but some break it out as early as mid-October. There is a certain irony in having ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’ imposed upon your eardrums in October while you’re fervently wishing nothing of the sort.
Known as the Christmas Creep, the initiation of campaigns to kickstart holiday spending earlier and earlier is aimed at maximising consumer spend by getting people to buy more, earlier.
Last week, returning from the county final (the less said about that the better, but a win is a win), I startled the driver by my sudden exclamation upon spotting a fully illuminated Christmas tree in the window of a family home near Foxford.
Now, far be it from me to cast judgement on what makes other people happy. Some of my dearest friends are Christmasphiles, and one in particular is exercising commendable and uncharacteristic restraint this year in holding off on the decorating until the third weekend in November. But neither can I understand the urgency to start celebrating something that doesn’t actually happen for another six weeks.
I confess, I am a humbug. I’m allergic to it all. I no longer consider myself Catholic (even if the Church prohibits the likes of us from formally removing ourselves), so the ‘true meaning of Christmas’ is a bit lost on me these days. I’m not a fan of shopping, so being reminded of the stress of the Christmas shopping (particularly for the men in my life who claim to already have everything they need) in the first week of November only prolongs the sense of dread.
My inner introvert has in recent years become my dominant personality, so neither am I a big partygoer anymore.
Really, there’s not an awful lot to get excited about. Apart from the food. And the holidays, and the catchups. Those, I can get on board with. But I don’t need to hear Mariah Carey or to see the Lidl Christmas ad in November to remember any of them.
Upon reflection, however, I am also partial to a good rendition of O Holy Night, and I have a secret grá for Chris de Burgh. And hot ports. So perhaps I’m only 85 percent humbug. But the point stands. Two months of Christmas is seven weeks too much.
When I ask my Christmas-loving friends why they adore it so much, they talk about how cosy the house feels in the evenings. They talk about the lovely, warm feeling they get, especially when there are children in the house. The long walks on cold crisp winter mornings in hats, gloves and winter boots. The excitement of the kids’ faces when the tree goes up, and the settling in to watch Christmas films in front of the fire on a cold, dark Saturday evening. The reunions with friends from afar who are home for the holidays.
Interestingly, they are not getting excited because the shops are full of things to buy; they are getting excited about the things that really matter. So if celebrating Christmas early makes people feel happy, why shouldn’t they embrace that, particularly now, in a world where the sad and bad news feels so relentless? Who are we to judge? Even if early celebrations don’t bring some of us satisfaction, it doesn’t mean we need to pour scorn on the ones who enjoy it or may just need that boost of happiness.
Conversely, though, Christmas can be a desperately lonely and sad time for people. Those who are grieving the loss of a loved one, or who might not have loved ones nearby. Those struggling with their mental health. Those who find the season clouded with anxiety about how they are going to meet expectations and pay for it all, when times are already tight.
For those who find it hard, the omnipresence of Christmas is now inescapable for two full months of the year, and that lack of consideration feels a bit unfair. Even those of us simply still traumatised from several Christmases behind shop counters and victimised by decades of over-exposure to Shakin’ Stevens are allowed to feel a bit hard done by.
There’s little point complaining. Somewhere, far away, Chris Rea is off getting new tyres on the car and Michael Bublé is about to emerge from whatever cave he lives in for the rest of the year. But on the upside, January is just around the corner!
OPINION: The Christmas creep cometh
5
35
09.11.2023
It’s November 3, and I’ve just left the pharmacy. Along with the routine prescription and a smelly candle, I left the building with a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
I was back sitting at my desk before I realised that – much to my annoyance – the tune I’d been humming on the way up the stairs was none other than Silent Night. And it didn’t come out of nowhere.
Most former retail workers, and many current ones, are all too familiar with that dull sense of Groundhog Day that accompanies the dusting down of the dreaded Christmas soundtrack. Mostly, it doesn’t air until after Halloween, but some break it out as early as mid-October. There is a certain irony in having ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’ imposed upon your eardrums in October while you’re fervently wishing nothing of the sort.
Known as the Christmas Creep, the initiation of campaigns to kickstart holiday spending earlier and earlier is aimed at maximising consumer spend by getting people to buy more, earlier.
Last week, returning from the county final (the less said about that the better, but a win is a win), I startled the driver by my sudden exclamation upon spotting........
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