Yep, it’s time for the annual soppy Christmas post from me. I’ve got the Christmas playlist on, the tree is surrounded by presents, the mince pies and Baileys are waiting and I’ve managed not to open the second box of Toblerone tinies yet, so that’s a result.
I’m not going to waffle on in this post, I just wanted to say a big Merry Christmas to you all, thank you for your support (even though I have lost so many followers since the blog moved hosts…boo, hiss) and just send huge amounts of love out there to everyone (I haven’t started the Baileys, honest.)
I was listening to quite possibly the BEST EVER Christmas song earlier and it made me well up. No, it wasn’t “The little boy that Santa Claus forgot” although that gets me every time as well. It wasn’t even “Happy Christmas (War is over)” which always makes me cry because, well, we know it isn’t, and some asshole shot John Lennon.
But it was “Wombling Merry Christmas”
But there’s a reason. I thought it was because it reminded me of being little and made me well up with nostalgia for the time when I couldn’t sleep on Christmas Eve. But no, I realised that the reason I get emotional when I hear that quite frankly extremely silly song is that it reminds me of how much love there is in my family.
In 2008 I moved back to Ipswich after my marriage went belly up. It was my first Christmas without a partner since I was 17, which was 20 years before. I was over at my parents’ house on Christmas Eve, getting very merry. I’d seen my best mate that afternoon, the one I hadn’t been allowed to see for years by my ex, we’d swapped pressies, watched The Polar Express while stuffing out on Christmas sweets and then he’d dropped me at mum’s, come in for a sausage roll or three (her sausage rolls are the stuff of legend) and then me, Mum and Dad had sat around moaning about Christmas TV for a while before getting the old Christmas records out and drinking more wine.
Mum remembered that we still had the old vinyl singles they’d collected for me when I was really little, all the Wombles songs. Yes, Wombling Merry Christmas was there, so we dug it out and out it on. At this point, it was getting quite late and we were both well lubricated, so as Dad looked on with a “The women in my family are all completely nuts” look on his face, as Mum and I launched into a not quite word-perfect version of the song at the top of our voices, laughing our heads off.
In that silly, daft moment, I was back home. Christmas was here. The horrible year I’d had was forgotten. I had my life back.
So now, whenever I hear that song, it’s me and Mum, full to the brim with Chardonnay, singing like nobody is listening.
That’s what Christmas is about for me. Love, silliness, family, and letting go.
Have this one on me…MERRY CHRISTMAS!!