It’s not just thrift. She’s thinking things over in her mind about the past, and it comes out in the presents. But in that moment on Christmas morning it’s difficult to follow her thought processes. I mean, the last thing you’re expecting on Christmas morning is a can of squid in black ink. But we sit down as a family, and say, ‘OK, who’s got the best present from Grandma?’ Last year my 19-year-old son, who had just started at university, got a roll of Sellotape. My mum might even have been using the Sellotape to wrap other presents and thought, ‘Oh, that’s what he’ll need’, and then wrapped it up. People think her presents are hilarious, and they are. But to be honest, they’re also really touching.
P. S., Chesterfield
What with the passive-aggressive fallout from misjudged gifts – the jumper never to be worn, the Vengaboys album never to be enjoyed – it’s little wonder that people resort to less imaginative, more practical ways to tick the present-giving box. The bleakest manifestation of this is the tenner in the Christmas card, particularly if two people give each other a tenner in a Christmas card, the Yuletide equivalent of the nil–nil draw. Vouchers may seem more thoughtful and less vulgar, but let’s face it, vouchers are just cash that you can only spend in one place. (‘Why are you placing such unreasonable restrictions upon me?’ is the perfect thing to yell at anyone giving you a voucher this Christmas, although I accept no responsibility for the fallout that may result from this.)
The truth is that small stacks of envelopes just don’t look that good under the Christmas tree. The trend of giving ‘gift experiences’ only adds to that stack, with envelopes containing printed-out emails on which people have scribbled things like ‘you are going bungee jumping in February’ or ‘have a great time rallying at Prestwold Driving Centre’. Then there are the envelopes containing apologies for things that haven’t turned up yet – ‘bread making machine coming in early January’ – although it’s worth being explicit about this kind of thing. Give a child a photograph of a bicycle in an envelope with no accompanying note, and they are likely to experience several seconds of turmoil until you explain that they’re being given a bike and not a photograph of a bike.
No, to fulfil the traditional image of Christmas, you need big stuff wrapped up big (or small things nestling gently on velvet cushions in presentation boxes). But for many people this eye-watering outlay on gifts isn’t ethically or environmentally sound. As the commercialisation of Christmas grows ever more rampant (see Six Bargains Grabbing, page 113), there’s a snowballing temptation to outdo the excesses of the previous year’s splurge, and some families now find themselves unwittingly obliged to fill a Christmas Eve Box. For those who remain blissfully unaware, the Christmas Eve Box is just a load more presents but given a day early. It was suggested in The Daily Telegraph in 2016 that the Christmas Eve Box has become a ‘a charming new tradition’ – but let’s be honest, it’s about keeping kids quiet as their anticipation of Christmas Day reaches unbearably frantic levels, like throwing red meat to the wolves.
This zealous pursuit of materialism may prompt the most politically left-leaning member of the family to abandon traditional gift giving, choosing instead to buy everyone charitable donations to good causes which manifest themselves in the form of a certificate and months of email spam from a panda. It’s a position I have sympathy with, but it’s possible to acknowledge the excesses of modern living and also accept that presents can be lovely things. Few things are as heartening as going for a walk on Christmas morning and seeing kids on new bikes that are ever so slightly too big for them, and while there’s no doubt that Christmas comes with an obligation to give stuff (perhaps too much stuff) it also presents us with a wonderful opportunity. Because, if you do it right, it’s possible to make someone’s year, and create a memory that can last a lifetime.
Watford, Christmas 1982
When I was a kid, I wanted a ZX Spectrum. I knew my folks couldn’t afford it, so I started to save up. I had a paper round and did other odd jobs. I compiled a list of all the things I would need – computer, joystick, even that funny little thermal printer they had. I put all the prices on my list and was committed to about a year’s worth of working and saving. I asked my parents for money towards the goal.
On Christmas morning, I got the normal sackful of ‘little’ presents and my ‘big’ present was handed to me by Dad. It was a cheque for £35 and I was delighted because that was a lot of money for me – and them – at the time. Then, Dad said to me – ‘Actually, give that cheque back. We might need to think about this.’ I paused and gave him the cheque back. He turned the TV on and slid a wooden tray out from underneath the telly. On it was a brand new ZX Spectrum, and the telly was beaming out the game ‘Harrier Attack’. I burst into happy tears. So did my parents. Best present ever, even now.
S. N. R.
Bryn: Doris, will you join us in a Mint Baileys for Christmas?
Doris: I won’t, Bryn. I’ve been drinking all day. To tell you the truth, I’m absolutely twatted.
Gavin & Stacey Christmas Special, 2008
I noticed when I was young that Welsh people of a certain age would make this peculiar whooping noise whenever they were surprised, shocked or delighted. It sounded like a slower version of the ‘pull up’ siren that goes off in the cockpit before an aeroplane slams into the side of a mountain, although it obviously wasn’t as scary as that. When you heard the sound you’d definitely raise an eyebrow, but it wouldn’t prompt you to leave all your belongings, remove your high heels and make your way to the nearest exit (which in some cases may be behind you). I’d hear that noise a lot over Christmas holidays spent in the Swansea valleys with my mum’s side of the family. They were never big drinkers, but if alcohol had been consumed then the whoops would become more frequent and much longer in duration. By 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve it was like hanging out with a bunch of malfunctioning but very friendly flight simulators.
As we know, consumption of alcohol speeds up our heart rate, widens our blood vessels, lowers our inhibitions and can cause significant damage to fixtures and fittings. It can help to put old arguments to bed, but can also help to create exciting new arguments, rich with potential and possibility. People start to fall over with theatrical flair. And at Christmas the British pursue all this stuff with vigour and enthusiasm; alcohol becomes the national anaesthetic, suppressing social awkwardness and allowing us to laugh at things that aren’t particularly funny. In 2004, some people with nothing better to do did a global survey and discovered that the British ratchet up their boozing at Christmas more than any of the other G7 nations. So we sit there, at the top of the pile, saying ‘cheers!’ to each other and wondering whether we should be feeling proud or not.
Stoptober and Dry January have become widely observed periods of abstinence, and they form a convenient bookend to what we might call Bender December. The counting of alcoholic units, a foggy concept to the British at the best of times, becomes even more erratic at Christmas. The quantities being slung back across the land make the whole idea of units seem a bit ridiculous, like measuring turkey consumption in micrograms. Quiet, unassuming relatives who barely touch booze under normal circumstances will suddenly be heard to say things like, ‘Ooh, don’t mind if I do’ or ‘Perhaps just a small one’, with a glint in their eye and a large empty glass in their hand. Later, they will do the can-can.
Hendon, Christmas 1976
I remember my mum and dad hosting a daytime drinks party in the run-up to Christmas. Those kinds of events were memorable when you were young, because you’d see adults getting drunk. You didn’t really understand it but you knew something unusual was up. This particular party had ended, and my dad, perhaps unwisely, was giving some people a lift home in the car.
He had a favourite crystal glass,