Has the festive season arrived too early?
Its gotten to that time of year again – dark by half four, chocolates on sale and the first trickles of Christmas adverts are starting to roll in. The crisp morning air condensates your breath, last night’s rain isn’t quite frosting over yet. Now, the heating is getting cranked up, blankets, fuzzy socks and hot-chocs are in full swing. Thoughts turn to presents and looking forward to that Christmas feast. We are on the cusp of a winter wonderland. A cusp, which creeps into the preceding months more and more every year.
Frankly, I am sick of it.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas – drinks with family and friends, the presents, the food, the whole shebang. But why-oh-why is it that the second Halloween passes, everywhere erupts into red and green, candy canes and sparkles? My poor mum’s been in the shops for weeks. You can hardly take a drive without Mr Bublé blaring out of the radio.
Its November. The middle of November. We have a whole month for Christmas coming. The John Lewis advert has only just come out. Now, I’m not saying that we shouldn’t get excited about things, but I’m thinking we shouldn’t jump the gun here. We still have 10% of the year left. If you lived until 80 that would mean you’d spend eight years of your life celebrating Christmas. Sounds amazing right? Well its not, because for 97.25% of that time you’re just building up to that one day which is over before you know it.
And not to be “That Guy”, but we all know “the season” comes earlier and earlier year on year to pump more money from us. It’s a hype train that we’re all forced aboard, and it works too – people lap it up, toddlers and Facebook addicts alike. A part of me wishes that I could get into the spirit now and live a winter of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, but I simply can’t.
It shouldn’t be a thing yet, but it is, and in this climate of political turmoil maybe this forced practice will help bring us all together for what little there is left of this decade.
It feels like Christmas is becoming the same amount of paper wrapped around a constantly growing present. Someday there won’t be enough paper to cover and after everything it will be us: the “bah-humbugs”, the “kill joys”, the “festive fun sponges” who get the Christmas we wish for every year – because it comes once a year and that is just enough for us.
By Isaac Till