Time-honoured traditions like lighting the Christmas candle have now been replaced by trips to Lapland, doorscaping and interior stylists. But we can take heart from staples like the Late Late Toy Show and Roy Keane

FROM here on in I think we should all assume that everyone is doing their best. Their almighty best says the fella, and that for the coming weeks, regardless of what anyone says or does, we’ll rise above it.

For example, if someone doesn’t let you out in traffic, just let it go (even if they didn’t); or if you let someone out and they don’t salute you… don’t blow up, but assume they’re mentally figuring out how big a turkey is needed to feed 15, and if their oven will accommodate it. A pal is a bit short with you? They’re wondering if they’ve missed the last post for Australia.

You don’t get included in an invite for a
night out? Aside from thanking your lucky stars and keeping the head down, assume it was a genuine oversight. See, the thing is everyone’s minds are at capacity (and beyond) right now and in most cases it really won’t be about you at all, but them (like a bad rom-com break up).

Of course if someone really is being a prat and is going out of their way to rile you, this ‘see no evil, hear no evil, float above it all’ approach also works brilliantly. I find a little Baileys (or my personal festive favourite, Cork-crafted Five Farms) every now and then is most conducive to bringing on these floaty feelings.

So to be clear, we are not taking offence –intended, or unintended–  in December. But, January is another story entirely; you can take the hump left, right
and centre.

Anyway, what are we making of this new trend of employing interior stylists to decorate your house for Christmas? It’s an actual thing, honestly. I’m equal parts outraged and intrigued.

I always find there’s different stages to Christmas decorating. First, there’s the excitement when they come down from the attic (mixed with a bit of fear in case any unwanted guests may have set up house in a box over the past year); followed by more excitement as you unpack the forgotten delights; followed by some suppressed anger as someone will smash a precious bauble that’s been in your family for the past 50 years (‘ah sure accidents happen’ you’ll chime wondering if it’s time for another Five Farms); abandonment, as the rest of the will family lose interest and you have to get stuck into other chores; denial, where you’ll walk past the boxes for a few days and hope they sort themselves; acceptance, when you realise no one is coming back to help, and finally action, when you just fling things here there and everywhere, and say to yourself you’ll double back to titivate the place, except you never do. I said the same thing when we were unpacking in our house a decade ago. I was so focussed on emptying boxes that I put lamps and soft furnishings etc in various places on the premise that I’d sort them out properly another time. They’re still there. Fa la la la la etc.

Jeepers, in many ways I yearn for the days when decorating was just about getting those paper and foil decorations and hanging them from the centre of your ceiling into the four corners of the room, to create a sort of canopy effect. And they’d keep falling down but you’d be expecting it and have the box of thumb tacks at the ready. We had a piece of string for our Christmas cards which we’d hang behind the couch where we all sat and that kept falling down too. You’d be watching TV and out of the blue, a pile of cards would land on your head, repeatedly. It didn’t really occur to us to move it someplace else. It was a Christmas tradition.

And our crib figurines were headless or missing other bodily parts but we never thought to replace them. There was room at the inn for everyone. Fake snow (it might have been cotton wool) was on the mantelpiece and one year we were even allowed spray fake snow on the windows (not the following year mind – my mum had her limits).

The biggest thrill wasn’t going to Lapland, it was lighting the Christmas candle, starting from the eldest and working down. A highlight was a visit from our Uncle Mick who would always bring a gift of a life-size cracker which was beyond exciting. There are so many photos of us as kids holding that cracker, looking like we might lose our lives. And wasn’t there something ridiculously cute about how kids were dressed in the early 80s? Cord dungarees, polo necks underneath little shirts (clearly the houses weren’t as well insulated as they are now) and pudding bowl haircuts. Bless!

And there were no Santa ‘experiences’ either. Just regular Santas with really bad beards on a string of elastic in shopping centres. And just because my social media feed is full of people telling me how to tie the perfect bow I’m going to take joy in having lots of imperfect bows everywhere… or no bows at all. And I’m not ‘reimagining’ or ‘deconstructing’ anything either. How’s that? Who am I kidding? I’m having sleepless nights over the fact that I’ve a mix of both warm white and cool white lights. This is who we are now.

Also reflective of how achingly uptight we can be is the fact that my social media feed is full of ‘helpful’ people giving me ‘useful’ snacking tips for December. I have people telling me that three slices of brie is the same calories as six boiled eggs, and three Lindt chocolates is the same calories as a bowl of Greek yoghurt, apple and granola. The point being? Crack open the Lindt for god’s sake. It’s stretchy pants season. Take your lead from Santa.

All in all I’m an emotional wreck right now. You can’t look sideways at me and I’m off, the tears are flowing. It’s the songs, the films, maybe all the chocolate. The Toy Show of course was beyond emotional – the kindness of people and then of course there was Roy Keane. ‘Storm Éowyn’ was this year’s top Google search in Ireland but I’d say after Friday night’s show, ‘how old is Roy Keane?’ has taken that top spot. He’s 54 for those wondering, and looking mighty fine too! I think Roy would want me to get a grip and to cop on, so here’s this week’s challenge: go forth and spread some joy, raise people up, leave them feeling better for having met you, or better again .. make them laugh. Tell them the one about the three slices of brie and the boiled eggs … but don’t be telling them how to tie a perfect bow.