So, Urbanvox wants a Christmas post, and he was stupid enough to ask me to do it. I’m Vic, from Glowstars.net, otherwise known as the wife, the tyrant, the slave driver… Am I missing any? Of course, the reason I really say he’s stupid is, because when asking me to guest post for him, he forgot that I know all his usernames and passwords and can come into his blog and post this before he even realises I’ve thought about what to write. And while I’m here I might just sort out his spam comments, and install a few sneaky plugins and the like. You never know what mischief I might get up to while he’s not looking.

So anyway, Christmas. What can I tell you about Christmas. I can tell you that last year Urbanvox and the boy had the tree up and the house decorated before the beginning of December. I can tell you that he (that’s Urbanvox, not TB) still calls Christmas stockings ‘stocks’. I can tell you that the only presents Urbanvox buys are for me, even though I’m refusing to sort and of his family’s presents this year.

But perhaps you don’t want to hear all that.

Perhaps I should tell you that this morning, when we were discussing putting boxes into the loft, and I mentioned that we could retrieve the tree and decorations at the same time (see, I held out this year!), he said he didn’t think we should put the tree up this year. He said that Christmas wasn’t really Christmas anymore and most kids couldn’t even tell you what the meaning of Christmas was. That it was all about Santa and getting presents and the real ideas were lost.

I toyed with asking TB what Christmas was all about, but I guess I knew his first answer would not be baby Jesus and they were rushing to get out of the house anyway.

Maybe, in Urbanvox’s true spirit I should tell you all the things I don’t like about Christmas.

Number one being the parties. Do you know how many lunches and parties I have to suffer through because of work? Five. Yes, that’s right, you heard me, five. For work alone. And I don’t even have a high-powered job that requires networking and business development. I’m a lowly PA. The booze, the food, all piling on the pounds, the buying of dresses you’ll only wear once and feeling like you have to socialise with people you don’t even know beyond answering their telephones and would care to know in real life. Ugh! So why not have parties in the middle of the year? There’s probably more cause for celebration in, say, August, than there is now, when nobody really remembers the meaning of Christmas anyway. Of course, by the end of it all, you’re skint. Because whose company can afford a Christmas party this year. No, for the most part we’re all paying our own way.

Number two: Christmas lunch. Say £30, maybe £40 for your turkey, which lets face it, will be dry from overcooking, then your veg (of which there must be plenty) and desserts, maybe starters. And the booze to go with it. Plus whatever you’ll eat that evening (if you can) and Boxing Day. It all adds up. Not cheap for a couple of meals and the inevitable weeks of turkey sandwiches.

Number three: The presents. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, but really, what is the point. We spend months in the run up to Christmas obsessing over what to get each person, stressing ourselves out when we can’t get hold of that item and bankrupting ourselves in the hope that if we spend enough, maybe our gifts will mean something. I raise my hand, I’ve been guilty of that one too. This year I’ve still not bought Urbanvox anything. I know roughly what he wants, he’ll get round to telling me where I can get it, but that’s what he’s getting and that’s that. Same with TB; he’s got a few small toys from us and that’s it. I’ve gotten over my present buying mania. There’s more important things.

So this Christmas I’ve turned down three parties and drinks already and there’s at least two more that I may skip (depending on whether I can reuse old dresses and if I can really be bothered). We’re doing the family thing (on two different days) and yes, I will give and receive the presentes, and maybe I will be eating that overcooked turkey, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be just as happy with fish & chips.