It’s November 30th and I’m sat, cross-legged on the sofa, admiring my Santa-red Christmas-pudding print pyjama bottoms, happily acknowledging the smudgy glow of yellowy fairy lights in my peripheral vision. Yes, it’s November and for the first time in my life, the Christmas tree is up, not just before December, but before December 12th.
If the version of me that was sat on the sofa this time last year, could see the version of me that is sat on the sofa this time this year, I’d be disappointed in myself. Despite ardently believing in everything Christmas stands for (Mr Kipling’s Frosted Fancies, bubble & squeak and the Christmas Eve pyjama tradition my mum started as I entered my twenties), I’d think this was a bit much. A bit desperate.
But that was 2019. And, as I commend my mum’s 2018 Christmas Eve pyjama choice, I also spread a little Aldi tomato & chilli chutney (that I sometimes enjoy just a spoonful of when I’m after a sweet pick-me-up at around 3PM) over my salt & pepper cracker, creating a generous sheet of festive gloop for one of my many slices of brie to lay on. Because if you can’t have your own mini Christmassy cheeseboard at 20:55 on a Monday night in November 2020, when can you?
I’ve switched the bag for life that stays in my car (yes, the most boring thing I’ve ever written) with my Santa Paws dogs-in-Christmas-hats Tesco bag. I’ve created my Christmas Spotify playlist (featuring Where Are You Christmas; the most underrated Christmas classic of all time) and I’ve listened to it as I’ve walked to pick up a Christmas Costa.
“People need something to cheer them up, don’t they?” We’ve all heard someone say. “People are just leaning into it this year, aren’t they?” I roll my eyes in response as I dig around, sure there must be at least one final toffee coin left in the purple box to my right.