The Best Christmas Ever: a message for children (and introverts)

 The Prime Minister mentioned the C word. We all know that’s not allowed before the October half term and especially when you’ve still got tomatoes trying to ripen in the garden but he was a very naughty boy and he said it anyway. He talked about Christmas and said it would be cancelled or it wouldn’t be cancelled or that everything would be normal by Christmas or it wouldn’t. To be honest, it’s sometimes difficult to know what the Prime Minister says because he changes his mind more often than he washes his hands and we know how much hand-washing is going on at the moment. Newspapers wrote about what he said and made the headline, “Christmas is Cancelled,” because no writer passes up the chance to use alliteration. 

If, like me, you love Christmas, then you might have been worried.

Some of the events in the lead up to Christmas will be cancelled but the 25th of December will still happen. Father Christmas will still come to your house in the middle of the night and bring presents. I know this because I know that he is magic. He can’t get Coronavirus. I mean, in the thousands of years that he’s been delivering presents has he ever had a day off sick? No. Of course not. Even in 1665, when Samuel Pepys wrote about not being able to go to the Frost Fair because of the plague, Santa still slid down the chimneys and filled those stockings. Santa lives in the North Pole where guard penguins keep him safe from all germs. 

This is, actually, going to be the best Christmas ever. 

With any luck we will even get a bit of snow. It will be like the beginning of lockdown. You’ll get to spend guilt free time with your immediate family. The Christmas tree will go up. You can decorate your garden with twinkly lights, go for long walks and bring back holly and ivy to deck the halls. You can snuggle up and watch Christmas films (which are the best films ever). You can drink hot chocolate and work your way through a whole tub of Christmas chocolates. Mince pies and little satsumas are back on the snack menu, along with all kinds of nuts, including those you have to crack yourself. You might do a jigsaw or some colouring. At school, on the last few days, there will still be all the excitement: the countdowns, the singing and Christmas dinner in your well ventilated bubble room, and, most importantly, the activity book. You can still have a Christmas dinner and argue about sprouts. The grown ups will drink all the sticky sweet drinks from the back of the cupboard and be relaxed and happy.

The things you won’t be able to do are those we can do without.

No woman (or man) will have to cook dinner for more than six people. There won’t be any standing in the cold in a large crowd, waiting for the switch on of the town lightbulb. No one will drag you round a Christmas market, being jostled by all the crowds, saying things like, “Isn’t this fun?” You won’t have to see relatives that you only see once a year and be kissed by the aunt who tells you how much you’ve grown, while gripping your arm so you don’t run away and mortally injuring you with her long fingernails. Your music teacher friends won’t crash into the holidays in an exhausted heap from the concerts that people only seem to want once a year (we won’t talk about their income, though). 

I’m looking forward to it already. Is it too early for a mince pie?