Being a child again

We put up the tree this morning in a mad, scrambled rush. Everything has been a mad, scrambled rush lately. I was in Northampton for three hours at the start of the week, and barely had time to realise I was there before another mad, scrambled rush brought me back to London again.

Nathan got emotional. We’ve done the same thing at around this time of year for the past fifteen years, each time remembering where we were last year, whilst trying to imagine where we’d be in twelve months’ time. Those who know us well will certainly attest to the fact that this year has been a roller coaster ride. I don’t think either of us could have predicted the twists and turns we’ve had to negotiate, certainly since June. The tradition is usually to say “hasn’t this year flown by?” But not this year. Not for me in any case. 2017 has been jam-packed with adventure, exploration, sadness and worry, and, because of this, it feels more like a decade. Each of the days on our epic trip across the States alone felt like a week!

I have started a tradition of buying a good quality bauble every time I visit a place where I feel inspired in some way. This means, as we deck the tree, the memories come flooding in. One of this year’s new crop was bought in the Grand Canyon. Another came from Florence. Last year’s newbie was bought in Oundle during my epic walk along the Nene. It’s made of glass, but I proudly carried it in my back pack for at least another fifty miles. The only thing I insist is that none of the things which get hung on the tree carry an undue amount of Christian symbolism. It’s a horrible way to ruin what feels like a good, old-fashioned pagan ritual. We have creepy clowns on our tree instead of angels. 

Actually, what I love most about Christmas trees is the weird blend of religious, folklore and random icons we hang on them. Many will hang stars of David with their angels alongside Santas, snow men, and miniature presents. And where on earth did the tradition of a fairy at the top of the tree come from? Is that a Walt Disney invention? That’s just bonkers! Philippa’s tree has a big gnarly squirrel at the top!

I’ve been watching trailers for a programme on C4 where a group of Scousers go from Liverpool to Bethlehem to cover the West Bank town in tacky Christmas lights. I can’t actually imagine doing anything more inappropriate or sinister. For me it’s right up there with Americans draping their flags over statues of Saddam Hussain during the invasion of Iraq. Yes I get it: Jesus is supposed to have been born in Bethlehem. But Bethlehem is in a war zone, in controversial territory which is bitterly fought over by Jewish and Muslim people. Going there and sprucing everything up in the name of Christianity feels ghastly.

I met up with Philippa and her brood today. We went ice skating in the pop-up open air rink next to the Tower of London. As ice rinks go, it’s got to be right up there with Central Park in terms of iconic locations. It’s essentially nestling in the former moat of the building and, as you’re wizzing around, wind rustling your hair, you’re able to look up at the walls of one of the world’s most famous buildings.

But how uncomfortable are ice skates? It’s actually almost not worth the pain they cause your ankles. There’s also the issue that, the older we get, the less acceptable it feels to potentially injure yourself by falling flat onto ice, simply so you can say you’ve perilously balanced on a pair of sharp blades for as long as it takes to sail around in pointless circles for twenty minutes. 

There were, however, a few glorious moments when I forgot all of that and allowed myself to fly. And then it was suddenly worth it.

Little Silver can’t yet skate, and Dylan and I took a hand each and essentially carried her about. She looked like a baby giraffe taking its first steps, but she was hugely determined. She’s actually one of the most determined children I know. I think it comes from having an older sister and seeing all the fun they’re having.

We had lunch in Pizza Express before heading back to Philippa’s via Spitalfields Market, where I was able to buy one final Christmas gift. It was also here that we sang ABBA’s Fernando repeatedly.

Back at Philippa’s, we did lots of cooking and crafting; threading oven-dried orange slices onto cotton to hang as decorations and painting little boxes which Phil and Dyl were using as a sort of Dutch-style advent calendar. We made flap jacks and ginger bread and decorated the latter with lemon icing and tiny little edible stars. Christmas is a very different experience with children around. There’s a palpable sense of excitement in them which I remember well.

As I left, the kids were knuckling down to watch a Christmas movie and it suddenly struck me how much I would like to be a child again!