The Magic of Christmas: More Than a Myth

Moments in Time

There’s something about our senses; how they can transport you to memories and feelings that sit, tucked away in your mind for years, decades even. A room scented with cigarette smoke is hardly desirable, or even commonplace these days, but if I ever get a waft of it, I am teleported to a special place! The lingering smell of Grandad’s cigarette smoke, counteracted by Nana’s pristinely kept home, and the seemingly constant aroma of roasting potatoes, and other comforting delights, provided the perfect concoction to engrain memories to last a lifetime. 

When we made the long journey to Westward Ho!, we’d look out for familiar landmarks along the way and once we spotted the sea from the brow of the Northam hill, we knew we were close. We’d slowly make our way down the long driveway as the gravel of the Royal North Devon Golf Club car park crunched beneath the wheels. The excitement never waned as my Grandparents would await us, along with their Golden Retriever, Tally. This was a time before we were ‘connected’ by mobile phones. Nana would wait, patiently with faith that her loved ones would safely arrive. We always arrived, and we knew that inside that little white cottage, that stood on a pedestal, surrounded by Grandad’s perfectly manicured lawn, we were loved. 

At any time of year this was a home from home, but the added excitement of Christmas made the visit I'm recalling feel even more special. There was a real sense of adventure about being so far from home on Christmas Eve, mixed with a lingering anxiety about whether ‘the big man’ would know where we were. By the time we had settled in, a movie had started,  He-Man: Masters of the Universe. It was the only Christmas Eve movie on terrestrial TV, no Netflix, Disney+, or Sky Moivies to choose from. Most of Grandad’s recordable cassettes had been used to record the Golf, but there must have been one spare so we put it into the VHS player and hit play and record simultaneously. I’ll never know exactly how many times I re-watched that video, but I made sure it was marked with a note saying ‘do not tape over’, what a movie! It’s a strange, quirky comfort that I’ve always found in watching things that felt like they were connecting people, and it was easier back then when we didn’t have hundreds of options at our fingertips. Live football, the X Factor (in its prime years), Match of the Day (when it only aired once) and of course the Christmas Eve movie. I was just a kid, and I know things often seem better on reflection, but it felt like everyone was tuned in, together with their loved ones just like we were; a country united by a special day and with hope in their hearts for a prosperous future. It’s a sad reality that I know now that it wouldn’t have been that way for everyone, but I am so grateful that I felt it. I hope I bottled enough of that love, and hope, to share with my children to go out and spread to the world.

I Wish it Could be Christmas Every Day

Christmas Eve night was the best! I never found a way to match the anticipation of the magic that was about to happen, until I found the session. It was as I was crafting this latest blog, typically not knowing where it was headed, that the realisation hit me. Like a kid on Christmas Eve, those hours leading up to a drinking session always promised so much and that’s where it used to get me. Over time though, the drinking was no longer living up to the hype. In the early years, it made me feel connected and happy. I may have felt a sense of over-indulgence afterwards, but the pros outweighed the cons. Twenty years later, it was starting to remind me of a lesson learnt from Mum. When Wizzard was blaring out of the speakers in the 90’s, I would declare without absolute certainty that ‘I wish it could be Christmas everyday’, to which she would softly advise me that this would not be as fun, or special, as I might be imagining. It would have been impossible to comprehend the spiritual nuances of hedonism back then, I’m still wrestling with it now. It’s safe to say, Mum was right though. When I look at what it gave me in the beginning, there’s no wonder that I was leaning towards, ‘I wish I could go drinking everyday’ by the time I was allowed to go out to the pub (I didn’t actually drink everyday). The magic of Christmas Eve, by the time I reached 17, had shifted. It was now a time for friends and alcohol. I don’t recall ever losing my love of Christmas through the early/mid teen years, but now that childhood buzz was back; novelty, social bonding, escapism and a faux sense of confidence, it promised everything that Christmas had delivered in my formative years.

The Magic Returns

Getting into Strattons Nightclub, on 24th December 2002 (a year early) was the best present I could have asked for that year. I am pretty sure it was once ranked among the worst nightclubs in the UK, but it was a rite of passage that everyone from our town had to experience. As the clock struck midnight, ‘All I want for Christmas’ boomed from the Kenwood speakers in the corner of the room. The music was naff, the carpets were sticky, there was condensation on every glass surface, yet it felt like a paradise of freedom and connection in equal measure. I poured my first Christmas Day hangover into my still developing frame without a care in the world. As the years passed, I hung onto this new tradition, desperate to re-capture the magic of 2002. Because there were always enough friends, and acquaintances, who valued the Strattons Christmas Eve session, it was hard to notice that others were moving on. Perhaps, for them, the moment in time had passed. Over the years, I saw domestic rows, blooded noses and misdemeanours that left others waking up in a holding cell on Christmas morning. Fortunately for me, the worst it got was monstrous hangovers, paranoia, and an inability to stomach any Christmas dinner. Like so many of my drinking sessions, I had stayed too long and, by my mid twenties, it was time to evolve. 

A Shattering Illusion

Megan and I met during that period of evolution, I had just embarked on my teaching career, and she was not long back from University. We bonded through a mutual enjoyment of being amongst the action, socialising at every opportunity, and, of course, drinking. There was something special about this relationship and we both wanted to make it work. We enjoyed being together, our outlook on life was similar, and we started to experience the world as a pair. Much of what we did together revolved around drinking though, so we blacked out the windows to block out any signs that alcohol was anything other than a magnetic force bringing us closer together. It wasn’t until a decade later, and the lockdowns of 2020, that we had time to take stock of everything. That period affected me like no other, the pandemic was the bombshell that woke me up. Suddenly, we had access to information that had been hidden from us for so long, and I was starting to take notice. Who knew there was an alternative to the drinking cycle I’d been in all my adult life? I became concerned with truth and alignment, and began to care less about shattering the alcohol illusion. For a couple who bonded over the substance, this might not be about to end well as we decided it was time to accept that drinking didn’t always change us for the better. When Megan went a drink or two past the ‘happy go lucky, life and soul of the party’ stage, she would often become verbally quite punchy, and when my ‘witty, relaxed’ two beer persona progressed to five or six, I could become very sensitive. You don’t have to be a chartered psychologist to recognise that this is a pretty combustible combination. For so long, neither of us were willing to accept this reality. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t true and bend our relationship around it, than to consider disrupting our relationship with alcohol. It was becoming clear that, if we wanted to grow together, our alcohol bond was not enough for deep happiness. We started to want more from life, for us and our children, we were ready to start building something else. 

More Than a Myth

That little cottage no longer stands on its pedestal in North Devon, and Strattons is now a gym (a physical metaphor for evolution), they were just places in moments in time that have led to where I am today. What really mattered is that all the love that was in that cottage is bundled in a ball of nostalgia in my heart, and the friendships that have lasted from those booze fuelled Christmas Eve benders. For the last four years, I have chosen to try to harness the spirit of the early 90s and seek the deeper connection and hope that I felt as a child. I remain agnostic about the future, but, this year, I don’t believe that taking alcohol will enhance mine, or my family’s Christmas. It was fun when I did take it, but I just don’t want or need it now. Long after they believe in him as a literal being, I hope the concept of Father Christmas remains with my children as I believe it holds the key to making this a time of good will, magic, hope and happiness for future generations. For practicing Christians, I know there is so much more depth to the meaning of this season, and I hope I can be forgiven for trying to create meaning in this way. Maybe it’s an awakening of sorts? The Father Christmas concept shares many similarities with drinking; anticipation, excitement, belonging, and escapism to name a few. But, whilst alcohol promised all those benefits, and sometimes delivered, the interest rate was rising quicker than UK taxes for me. Where alcohol was eventually taking more than it gave, the spirit of Christmas asks only that we pass it on. It’s up to us to make sure it keeps on delivering to those around us, and choosing AF helps me to stay present and conscious enough to do better.