Christmas is exhausting. I grew up in a Muslim household where my parents made it an act of faith to wilfully ignore Christmas. There was no tree, no presents and no family Christmas lunch around the dining table. I missed out on these rituals, but now that I am married to someone who is not Muslim and have two young children, ignoring Christmas simply is not an option. These days we go all in — tree, wreath, advent calendar, home-made cards, secret Santa with her family and carol singing. You name it, we do it. And that’s fine — it is nice to be able to give Laila and Ezra a taste of the magic and joy I never had — but it comes at a price and for me that means having to pretend to feel things that I do not.
Mostly I have to pretend to be excited about decorating the tree, pretend to be excited about what presents I will be getting and pretend to be pleased with whatever I get. I probably sound like the most miserable person on the planet, so I should clarify that it’s not decorating the tree or giving and receiving presents that I find stressful but the public display of excitement that is expected.
My family back in Luton don’t make a big deal of Christmas, so the question of who to spend Christmas with has only one answer — it is always with my wife’s family. Bridget’s parents and siblings are genuinely some of the kindest and empathetic people you could hope to meet. I don’t know if you’ve spent any time around any truly lovely people, but they can be very hard work. The sheer effort required to pretend to be a far nicer person than I am is exhausting. The cracks usually start to show around day four.
It is not only Christmas that I find draining. Bridget is Scottish and so she takes New Year’s Eve — sorry, Hogmanay — very seriously. My idea of a perfect New Year’s Eve is putting the kids to bed and Bridget and I having a quiet dinner where we reflect on the remorseless march of time and our inevitable extinction. I have not yet got to the bottom of the reasons why, but this has never appealed to my wife. She prefers to see in the new year dancing and getting drunk with friends. Each to their own I guess.
We always end up doing what my wife wants and so we invariably spend New Year’s Eve seeing friends. The trouble is that I will be the only one not drinking, so everyone else will be having fun while I will just be pretending to have a good time. Christmas and New Year usually ends with Bridget complaining how my anti-social ways almost ruined everything.
This has been the script for the last decade, but this year I have promised to throw myself into the holiday season without complaints. In return Bridget has promised that on the day after New Year’s Day I can go off for a short break on my own. It is a sure-fire way to ensure we all survive the holidays intact: the promise of solitude for me and a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year for everyone.
Take Ghost Town to Christmas Number One
The saddest news of the week was the untimely death, at 63, of Terry Hall, above, frontman of The Specials. I was 10 years old in the summer of 1981 when Ghost Town — perhaps their finest song — hit the number one spot. It was a time heavy with racial tension and economic anxiety and
Ghost Town was the perfect soundtrack to that summer of discontent. I listened to the song again this week and was struck by how timely the anxiety evoked in that song felt today. The Specials and Ghost Town are a reminder how music can do more than just distract and entertain.
I would love for Ghost Town to be re-released so it could be the Christmas number one. The royalties could be donated to charities focusing on research into pancreatic cancer — which claimed Hall — and to those struggling to stay afloat in these economically turbulent times.
