Written by Backandtotheleft
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Tags: Christmas

Tuesday, 27 December 2011

People hate Christmas. It's a fact that has been disputed by experts with way too much time on their hands for a number of years now. People hate Christmas for a huge number of reasons be it the crass commerciality of the event, the fact no one every bought you a decent Lego set or you might just genuinely believe Jesus is a cunt. I believe though Britons "Hatred Of Christmas" stems from one place and one place only. The family.

No-body likes their family and to back up a very sketchy point we at Back and to the Left news have invited ourselves over to a friends house (not and actual friend, more a stranger who answered a advertisement) to see how much the average British household hates their loved ones.

We arrived at 5 O'clock in the morning on Christmas morn and we could tell an argument was already in full swing. The male head of the house came storming out of the front door like a storm and with a face like thunder and eyes like lightning! (now that's creative). He saw my team on his garden and approached us like a steady moving rain cloud (ok no more weather related descriptions.)

"It's you two? Fuck, I'm spending Christmas at the Red Cross shelter!"

He stomped off and away down the street shouting into the crisp Christmas air a well placed boot sent a cat that had being sniffing around into next doors garden. And with that he was gone.

"Oh don't mind him. He always get's like this over Christmas, come on in."

The voice comes from a homely (fat) looking woman at the door and she beckons us in with a wave of her homely (fat) hand. She has a red mark on her face and has strange "tear shaped" things falling from her eyes. She tells us her name but I don't quite hear her and will just refer to her by little nicknames like "pet" or "love"

"The kids are just getting ready to open their presents from Santa."

She says as leads us into the front room where two pyjama clad children wait expectantly. Their little eyes light up the room with a sense of hope and wonder that no adult can ever understand. Christmas is their time.

"They do know Santa's not real don't they? I mean their not retarded are they? And if they are I cant catch anything off them can I?"

I say as I sit down on the settee. I feel something break underneath my bulk but decide against moving in case it was something the family would make me pay for.

"Erm I...I....."

She stammers and stutters answer the question for me. The children's eyes now are filled with confusion. The sort of confusion you get when some one crushes your hopes and dreams isn't that right BBC!

I discovered I had been shouting "Fuck you and the Strictly Come Dancing Horse you rode in on" at the family's Christmas tree for twenty minutes. I apologised ( I need to stop drinking before doing articles) and encouraged the children to open their presents. After watching them do this with the normal encouragement from their mother I began to understand what the true meaning of Christmas is. And it's probably X-Box Live.

After the presents have been opened I listen to the mother make several phone calls to what I assume are family members. She makes excuses for the kids because they cant be bothered speaking to their grandma. She say's little Timmy likes the book she got him it's just a shame that he cant yet read at the grand old age of nine. After the lies to elderly relatives have been finished I follow mum into the kitchen where she is preparing Christmas dinner.

"When I got told you could buy Christmas dinner in a can I was like no way, but I went to Liddell and there it is. Christmas dinner in a can. Half an hour and it's ready!"

She shows me the four cans of Christmas dinner and expects me to be impressed, she forgets that I've seen a full English breakfast in a can so this is nothing new to me. She asks me if I'll be joining them for dinner and I laugh. For quite a long time actually. When I stop I don't answer her question but I hope my scorn got through to her.
As she cooks she pours herself a glass of brandy and downs it in one.

"So love you got anyone coming round this afternoon?"

I ask in the most polite way possible.

"No. It's just going to be me and the kids this year....."

"Why?"

I say before she has time to finish her previous sentence.

"We did the whole family thing last year and it just didn't work. My sisters a vegan and did nothing but complain that we were all eating turkey. My dad had a heart attack shouting at the Queens Speech for the fifth year in a row....

I press her on the reason why.

"He's convinced she owes him money. Like a lot of it. So yeah all were doing this year is having a nice small Christmas."

"It is small. There's families in Basra getting more grub on their table than you are here."

This poignant and cutting remark doesn't get the response it deserves and she just silently looks at her feet. The curious wetness that afflicted her eyes before has returned. This is a puzzling development and one that I think proves the point of this interview.

Whatever that was.

With the dinner the family sit down to see a great British Christmas tradition. Shite on TV.

"We were thinking about watching "Celebrity Head Swap" with special guest surgeon Amy Childs. And of course the one everyone's talking about "Vagosis: A journey into Jordans Vagina" that's hosted by David Attenborough."

I ask how all the cameras would fit into Jordan and the mum asks me if I've ever heard of her. Point made.

So the Christmas TVs finished, the dinner in a can has been devoured and the kids are bored. When mum puts them to bed I ask her if this Christmas could have been any more perfect?

"I would have liked to have a bit more cash and....."

Before she can finish I realise I'm intensely bored with the whole situation and excuse myself. As I walk away from the glowing windows and warm fire I realise that although I did swipe a purse off a table, maybe I still had to find the true meaning of why everybody hates Christmas. This family although they had dog food for dinner, presents where the wrapping paper cost more than the gifts and a obvious mental problem seemed to have a good time with each other.

It made this interviewer think about his family and weather or not he'll ever see them again.

Probably not. There's no way they can get out of that cellar.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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