Merry Betwixtmas, everybody! I’ve a great fondness for this final stretch of December, the weird dead time when Boxing Day obligations to extended family have been fulfilled, and the new year’s party still seems impossibly far in the future. It’s a truly philosophical period, raising questions of mortality, renewal and resolution, and of how long trifle can be left open before it goes off. It’s good for a couple more days, right?
You don’t want to go back to work, but you’re also not exactly sure what to do with yourself. Which is, doubtless, why panto exists. This is no slight on the genre, for which I have great respect – the best money my sister ever earned from her acting career was in Aladdin, singing A Whole New World while desperately clinging to a shonky hand-operated flying carpet. Still, there must be a reason people don’t pay to shout “He’s behind you!” any other time of year.
