I wonder if I can get Santa as a Facebook buddy…

I’ve not done a physical Christmas shop for years — for me, everything is purchased on-line from the comfort of my own self-satisfied, pushchair-free non-shin-smashed smugness.

I gave up trying to run with the hunters when I realised you can finish the whole bloody lot within a day from the safety of your own favourite chair.

The C21st may be littered with far too much pseudo-science/techie gobbledegook & fiddly gadgetry what we old folks don’t seem to quite know how to mind manage, & we may criticise the dumbed-down lazy reliance on nano-time saving elec-trickery, but this here interweb is most certainly bloody good for those satisfying J R Hartley moments.

How else would I find forgotten vinyl gems for Mrs C. such as the Because Mad, Scared Dumb & Gorgeous LP & Furniture‘s The Wrong People (original STIFF release, mind) LP?

Saint Nick/Old Nick (Santa/Satan) is alive & well in Drunk Country House by crikey )

Having worked my testicles into balloon animal shapes this year, & having cooked for friends, family, Mrs Country, etc. for the past 5years on the trot (I, Mrs C. & a few friends are vegetarian, so you have to be a little more creative each year to keep the ooh’s & ahh’s & mmm’s at an acceptable level), not that I don’t enjoy it, I’m looking forward to being spolied a little by Mrs C.’s Ma — & what a bloody excellent cook she is too. There’s even a heated hostess trolley.

It may be a little self-indulgent, but I’m due some pampering.

Also, I’ve found that people don’t raise an eyebrow if you’re not Jewish but wish them a Happy Chanukah nonetheless. Highly recommended, as Chanukah is far less depressing than Christmas.

We’re pretty indulgent with one another on a daily basis, occasions like Valentine’s and Christmas seem a bit pointless. But then, we’re still in the honeymoon period I suppose.

The last time Mrs Toad and I were at my folks’ place for Christmas the presents were being handed out and everyone realised we hadn’t bothered to get anything for each other – neither of us had bothered.

And yet, with the walks and the reading on the couch together and the cooking expeditions and all that, it made not a jot of difference to the Christmas spirit and to how nice it was, although my parents looked briefly shocked!

I especially loved the line “A potentially brilliant celebration of family and friendship and generosity and warmth and winter has been distorted into a grotesque carnival of avarice and envy and pornographic acquisitiveness” … not only because its true but also because its a great bit of writing. “Grotesque carnival of avarice…” that just rumbles in the throat in such a delightfully anglo-saxon way … it’s practically poetry, man!

But Dylan is right: so often it is we who complain the loudest about Christmas who are the biggest hypocrites. The whole thing is a big addiction. Like any addiction, what makes it so damn hard to quit is that it’s difficult to disentangle the good parts from the bad parts.

And there are no easy solutions. You say we should just give gifts to immediate family. I don’t know… taking a moment to show appreciation and/or forgiveness to your neighbours and other minor actors in your life… isn’t that an important, life-affirming thing to do too? It’s hard to say.

Dylan’s right though, it’s incredibly difficult to refuse to take part in all this rubbish. You have to be pretty fucking determined.

We should start a campaign for a Buy-Nothing Christmas, where all but the smallest presents are taboo and money and, above all, time spent on family things is encouraged.