Pity me, dear reader, on this sweltering Tuesday afternoon in early July, for I am about to enter a winter wonderland of festive cheer. That’s right, Christmas season in magazine world is in full swing. There’ll be mince pies, frosted fruit, pigs in blankets, and chestnuts roasting on an open…well, pavement probably, it’s so hot.
Although it feels extraordinary when you first experience it, it is surprising how quickly you get used to it. And although I sit here eating sushi and dreading the thought of a turkey tasting session, I know that after 10 minutes of over-zealous air con and Christmas tree room spray I will accept my fate…and all the canapés they throw at me. It’s this time of year when I experience food hangovers – there’s only so much smoked salmon you can eat before your body goes into lockdown.
It’s lucky, I suppose, that I love Christmas so much, since it starts for me in July and continues right up until the rest of the world catches up, when I join in with that one too. As a child I used to wish that it could be Christmas every day. Well, I got my wish for half of the year, although unfortunately it doesn’t come with a stocking each morning, which I imagine was the main reason for the wish in the first place. As a five year old, I certainly didn’t have an overwhelming urge to eat Christmas dinner for six months, or plan boxing day buffets and homemade gifts. But it’s worth it by the time the Christmas issue finally appears, and it always makes for a good dinner party discussion!
So when you’re enjoying a crisp glass of Sauvignon after work this evening, perhaps a gin and tonic and some olives, think of me smiling through the pain of my 10th mince pie, Bing Crosby buzzing mercilessly round my head and pine needles stuck in my sandals. Whoever said that Christmas was about Christ has clearly never been to a press show in July…