The Twelve Months of Christmas

Perhaps it is due to the lack of distinction between our seasons. Only a few weeks past I had been blogging about my joy for the Autumn months, revelling in the crisp leaves carpeting the frosty paves. But this is England. Those weeks, few as they were, have brought rain and chills that have frozen our dusky leaf fall into the jewel like sludge puddles making treasures of our gutters. And thus, Winter is upon us.

Which of course, means only one thing.
The consumerist ritual of Christmas is unleashed in all of its Capitalist glory. Because the Big Brands don't care about our economic crisis, and by hyping up the festivities before Halloween has even been and gone, little children can get writing their letters to Santa before the rush.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm as excited for Christmas as the next five year old. I can't wait for the tinsel, the lights, the presents, the tree, and of course mama's home cooking. But I CAN wait for it in October, maybe even pushing November. I honestly don't see the need for advertisement in Autumn. Whatever happened to 'tis the season?'

Part of me wonders whether this obsession with the material holiday miraculously linked to Jesus' birth (Holy crap! A virgin got pregnant! Lets celebrate with worldwide gift giving!)has anything to do with how drab our society has become. Now you know I love getting on my nostalgic high horse for the Austenian era of the past, but part of me genuinely wonders whether we are all so unhappy that we have to latch onto a holiday that promises happiness and goodwill to all men, and stretch it to snapping point. Now contrary to popular misconception, suicide rates don't actually increase in December (Source: http://www.suicideinfo.ca/csp/assets/alert16.pdf) but heavy drinking, financial strain and familial dispute are surely all a consequence of a holiday blown completely out of proportion. So much strain and pressure is put on 'the big day' that expectations will always fall short.

When I was younger my parents took me to Germany. Rothenburg fulfilled every stereotype of the German gingerbread village. We went in August and the Christmas Tree Shop was open and in full season. It was almost sickeningly festive, but there was a difference to our British Christmas; It was traditional. Rothenburg wasn't trying to sell extortionate plastic with choking parts, or calorific tins of confectionary; Homemade tree decorations and nativity scenes dominated the tourist trade. The Family was the target audience, as opposed to The Consumer.

And so, I am rebelling against Christmas. Admittedly not in the way my Jehovah's Witness boyf secretly prays I will, but rebellion it is. My festive manifesto? I will not think about Christmas until my Advent Calendar goes up. December will be the month of Christmas cards, of present buying, of tree decoration, festive baking and going all out.
Join me in reclaiming the season!