Christmas wasn’t so bad

### Lauren Clarke

**For the most part of the year I am a cynic, having a good old whinge about the world in short 700 word bursts. While I may condemn the run-up to Christmas with its green and red colour-scheme, I hold my hands up and will happily that I love Christmas.**

While the ‘festive period’ may begin in October, causing autumn to almost be forgotten in its entirety, you could say that this kick-starts the period of goodwill even earlier. At no other point in the year can you expect a card wishing all manner of well-wishes and love from people you haven’t spoken to in years. The month of December also happens to be the time of the year when people take time out from thinking about themselves and are more charitable than in the other eleven months of the calendar year.

It is indeed the season of giving. While the more practised cynics out there may argue that more people are preoccupied with what they will be receiving this Christmas and the consumerism of the entire occasion, I would argue differently. We slog throughout the year to save up that little bit of extra cash to spend on gifts for others. We take time to email those distant cousins, who you haven’t spoken to since they were 8, asking what they would like for Christmas – seeing as now they are 17 you have absolutely no idea what they are like, let alone what they want. We spend our weekends kettled in queues and laden with bags all with the sole purpose of giving someone else a gift. We then subject our fingers to endless paper-cuts while wrapping said gifts in brightly coloured paper.

It’s also the season which sees some of the best food and drink. The wine is heated to perfection, infused with an assortment of spices and herbs which result in a beverage with a deadly alcohol percentage to top it off. Smoked salmon and champagne are suddenly a conceivable breakfast combination and Brussels sprouts make their annual appearance onto the vegetable scene. A tradition in my family which I, out of the seasonally-induced goodness of my heart, will impart to you is Port and Guinness. Go with it. I promise.

And then there’s snow. I personally despise snow. It is the combination of my two least favourite things in the world – cold and wet – and no matter how many layers you’re wearing, it will end up in your pants. Saying that, while “dreaming of a white Christmas” more often than not stays just that – a dream – there are few things more heart-warming than watching children get dressed up in all their woollen finery, to spend hours in the snow with Cheshire Cat smiles as they build snowmen and throw themselves down hills on sledges.

But truly, it is the most wonderful time of the year. Christmas carols ring out from the mouths of carol singers; albeit a little off-key and dissonant at times, but beautiful and well-meaning nonetheless. Families spend hours trapsing round finding that ‘oh-so-perfect-we-promise-this-one-is-definitely-non-drop’ Christmas tree, or opt into the easier option of hauling the old synthetic tree out of the loft, to gather round with a box of decorations and adorn it with the ornaments which have passed down through generations. Families put aside their troubles and qualms, even if it is for one day, wish each other well and share in the festivities.

So give the presents which you spent hours wrapping to origami perfection, drink a little too much port and other deeply middle class beverages which are not drunk at any other point in the year. Watch ‘Elf’ and ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ year-after-year because although you know all the words, they make you sob and warm your heart. Go and eat an inordinate amount of food whilst wearing a brightly coloured, joy-inducing knitted jumper. Because Christmas is indeed the time of the year for such things.