It's Christ-maaaaaaaas!

It is a cliché to say that it is a cliché that clichés are clichés because they are true. (Keeping up so far?) However, there is a fallacy particularly prevalent at this time of year with which I wish to deal, in the hope of ending its reign at the top of the cliché charts. The idea I want to tackle, and to disprove, is that Christmas “nowadays” (I word I hate anyway) is “too commercial”. Nonsense. Christmas isn’t commercial enough.

Let’s get the theology out of the way first. This “Jesus” chap is rather sketchy. We know he existed as some kind of itinerant rabbi, possibly preaching a rather doomsday-based cult to some disaffected Judeans. But the rest of the family history is improbable: very trusting father (“Yes, dear, of course I believe you’re pregnant with the offspring of the Lord”) and a literally immaculate mother, the trek to Bethlehem for a census of which there is no historical record, the arrival of some wise, gift-bearing men from the East (“Well, what are you doing creeping around a cow shed at two o’clock in the morning? That doesn't sound very wise to me.”). Don’t get me wrong, I’m prepared to be generous. Big marketing campaigns require some kind of totem or symbol, like Ronald McDonald or Colonel Sanders (a genuine colonel, by the way, if only an honorary “Kentucky Colonel”). I get that. So we can tolerate the Jesus figure for the time being. Hell, go the whole hog and make him Colonel Christ.

It is the oldest of vieux chapeau to say that many Christmas customs pre-date Christianity or are purloined from pagan ritual and behaviour. It is true nonetheless. We should not judge too harshly in this matter. Most religious festivals are ones of development and synthesis rather than springing fully-formed from the ether. Think of the way that early Christians, particularly in the Roman army, borrowed heavily for imagery and worship from the cult of Mithras, a mystery religion of Persian origin, or of the linkages between Christ and the ancient sun-gods. What are the chief features of Christmas in the 21^st century? I freely admit that there are some – a minority, I think – for whom it is the celebration of the birth of the Saviour of Mankind, and, in an extension of that sense of joyful enthusiasm, a warm family occasion when people try to recognise how lucky they are. I have friends like that. Indeed, as the old saw goes, some of my best friends are Christians. For them, Christmas is a hugely significant part of the liturgical calendar, and wrapped in theological importance. Good luck to them. For most people, though, Christmas is about presents and Having A Good Time. I will consider the second part first.

We all like a good party, don’t we? (Well, actually, no; some of my nearest and dearest are deeply anti-social creatures and would rather be smeared in honey and tipped into a nest of fire ants than go to a Christmas party.) But, as that inveterate libertine Aristotle said, man is by nature a social animal, and the festive season allows for that in spades. It is not always a success. In a previous incarnation I attended my first work Christmas party in the deathless atmosphere of “Conference Room E” (there was no A, B, C or D), which consisted of: senior colleagues trying, with various degrees of sincerity, to appear jolly and welcoming; blood-temperature wine; a half-hearted stereo playing the usual Christmas fare in one corner; and some lacklustre dancing. I gave it my best, because, at a fiver a ticket for someone of my junior station, I knew I’d be making a profit on the wine, but I think everyone was fairly pleased when it came to an end and those who had had enough could go home while the rest of us sought an alternative venue to continue (or even start) the jollity, which in my case turned out to be an office upstairs where there was a stash of more wine and colleagues willing to share it with me.

Grim though it was (I have been to better work Christmas parties since), it was at least self-contained. It mattered not a jot that one colleague had to find an open office and be sick into the occupant’s wastepaper basket – there’s recycling for you. And it was, as I have said, cheap, especially for neophytes like myself. Not every workplace has the ability to keep things within the ramparts, and some choose not to. Now is the time when pubs, bars and restaurants begin to fill with ominously large groups of obvious workmates, pretending they know each other better than they do and determined to have a good night. There are few worse experiences – OK, I accept cancer’s probably a bit of a pisser, but bear with me – than being on the outside of such groups in a social setting. As if to represent a particular form of slow torture, the groups often build gradually, celebrants first arriving in ones or twos of threes, before you realise the full horror of what is happening. But you can usually spot the signs. A minority of the women will have changed into a “party frock”, and may be carrying a pair of more sensible and less glamorous shoes with them. The men will have loosened their ties an inch, to show they’re relaxing and are definitely no longer at work (the rebels). Someone, and there’s always at least one, will have donned some kind of humorous costume. (I had a (female) colleague who every year would dress an an elf for the works drinks party.)

Now, it is not my intention to deprecate excess and indulgence at any time of the year, let alone at Yuletide. I – ahem – like a drink or two, and there are occasions when getting hammered in the company of congenial workmates is simply the thing. I enjoyed one Christmas party which began with wearing 18^th century court dress, progressed with the addition of plastic reindeer antlers to the outfit and concluded with breaking a toe. Happy days. But the world of hospitality is simply not thinking of the collateral damage, the bystanders, the civilians. This is why I say that Christmas is simply not commercial enough.

Imagine the scene. It is in the teens of December, probably on a Friday, and you and a group of friends (assuming you have any – it may just be you) decide you’d quite like to go for a drink and have a good natter about life, the universe and everything. The moment that decision is made, you are already in considerable danger. Assuming you can find an agreeable hostelry with a free table or perching ledge, further challenges lie ahead. The bar will be populated by people placing incredibly elaborate mass orders, which, as time goes on, they will be increasingly unable to remember (“Was is two Smirnoff Ices and a Disaronno and Coke?”). The noise levels will be loud, and they will get louder as chatter competes with the fourth playing of Sir Paul McCartney’s timeless/deathless classic “Wonderful Christmastime”. By the latter stages of the evening, I guarantee – guarantee – that there will be a woman in the corner crying. (I mean that in no misogynist spirit: the male equivalent will be a man getting slightly choked up, gently punching a male colleague in the chest and saying “You’re all right, man. You’re all right”.) Worst of all, however, is the peril of being dragged into the festivities. It doesn’t take much. A reveller of either gender, on the outside of more booze than they can comfortably handle, will bump into you at the bar, apologise and laugh hysterically; or yell “Merry Christmas!” at you at a volume you neither expected nor desired; or, as you navigate your way to the bathroom across what has spontaneously become a dance floor, you will be press-ganged into a conga line on the grounds that It’s All A Bit Of A Laugh, Isn’t It?

There’s the clear and present danger for everyday boozers. So why don’t publicans recognise and, more importantly, monetise that fact? It wouldn’t take much. More radical landlords could declare their premises Christmas party-free (like the excellent Dove in Hammersmith refuses to admit children; it is an oasis). That doesn’t mean there aren’t lesser steps. A three-drinks-or-fewer queue at the bar would be a start. Or a designated no-Yuletide area, like a no-smoking area (before they banned it altogether, about which I am deeply conflicted, and which was in some tiny, tiny part my fault). You could even charge a premium for these services, like Amazon Prime. I know I’d pay.

(A sidebar: one of my favourite pubs in London, The Speaker in Westminster, has signs above the bar declaring: “Place your order at the bar or talk on your mobile: IT’S YOUR CHOICE”. Clearly someone had annoyed the bar staff.)

Then there is gift-giving. This is the big one at Christmas. It is also the most nakedly commercial aspect of the festival. Here, again, though, I think retailers are missing a trick. Imagine how much money Marks and Spencer must spend manning their returns desk during January. Unwanted comedy boxer shorts, sweaters that are (insultingly) too large or (flatteringly) too small. An outlay for no return, which makes no financial sense. Yet the solution is obvious.

One of the greatest inventions of civilisation in at least the last few centuries is the wedding list. It works both ways. The happy couple doesn’t end up with 48 fish forks and a single napkin. And they have the delicious experience of picking the things they want. I recommend it. I went to John Lewis, God bless ’em, and was armed with a list of potential items and a scanner to put them into the system. The future-former-Mrs Sybarite was so caught up in the excitement that she started hyperventilating and had to sit down. We picked a houseful of desirable items and, by and large, received them, though the size of the flat we moved into after the wedding was not entirely proportionate to the amount of stuff the John Lewis van delivered a few weeks later. Even better, the gift-givers could leave little messages next to their purchases on the list. One friend, a very methodical German economist who bought us a fish steamer, left the simple and slightly plaintive inscription “I have no idea what this is”.

So, as they used to say in The Six Million Dollar Man, we have the technology. Why not extend it to Christmas? You go into a shop, identify things you would like people to buy for you, and they can do that, maybe even online. It might be possible to avoid human interaction altogether. Of course, this already exists in a prototype form, in the shape of Amazon’s wish-lists. But it is clearly ripe for exploitation by an enterprising retailer or group of retailers – after all, even I wouldn’t want all my presents from one source. You need at least a bookshop and an off-licence. Think of it. Obviously you would over-order so you wouldn’t know exactly what you were getting for Christmas, thereby preserving the element of surprise. But NO dud presents. Nothing you didn’t want (except from annoying people who decided to go off-piste because they knew what you really wanted). No horrible Christmas sweaters from distant relatives with no imagination. No socks (unless you wanted them; myself, I’m quite happy to receive socks as a present so long as their ones I like. Sartoria Gammarelli, if you’re feeling generous). No left-field gifts you have to pretend to like (my stepfather once received a Gillette shaving set from his elderly mother; he has a beard). Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Everyone wins. The givers have an easier time of it. The recipients get swag they actually desire. The retailers can charge a modest fee for the service. It’s downside-free.

The fundamental problem, as I see it, is that we beat ourselves up for the commercialisation of Christmas. Even the most fervent atheist is capable of worrying that the festival has become “meaningless”. If your conscience pricks you, fine. Volunteer at a homeless shelter or something, thereby both doing some absolute good in a world which needs it and making you feel better about yourself. Call in on an elderly neighbour on Christmas Day bearing a box of mince pies/a bottle of sherry/a few grammes of cocaine (delete as appropriate). These are virtuous things; if you are a believer, you may think you will be rewarded in the next life, and, if you are not, it doesn’t matter because you just made the world a fractionally better place. But too many people, for whatever reason, dodge the uncomfortable truth that for most of us Christmas is a secular festival. Face up to that. More than that, embrace it. Make life easier on yourselves.