We’re not even in December but Christmas has begun in London it seems, and we’re now expected to jump in the back of the Mariah-blaring rickshaw for the grand attack on our wallets, willing marks for a fleecing, hoping that amidst all the self-indulgence masquerading as generosity, we stumble into a moment of drunken good cheer that doesn’t result in an HR enquiry.
Yet spend a few hours watching Royal Ballet’s The Nutcracker, and it’s impossible not to have your cynicism crack. It is a reminder of what Christmas is really all about: no, not Jesus - this is a féerie, a good hit of pure Pagan whimsy - but gathering, individual display, exquisite spectacle and... well, magic.
