There are many daft folk out there (and believe me I know about these things) who by now (it’s the last day of November as I write) are writing the thank you letters for the thank you letters for the Christmas presents they sent out to everyone in October. I don’t know why but there’s an awful lot of people who’ve moved Christmas forward to October. I guess they just want Christmas out the way. Can’t blame them really.
The people who do this (and bear in mind there are a growing army of them) buy their Christmas cards and presents way ahead of schedule. Some look forward to their Summer holidays in Bournemouth, Blackpool or Skegness so they can ferret round the Poundstretcher for packs of cards on display in July and August. ‘It beats the rush’. Anyone ever seen a rush before? I’m wondering what it looks like? I’m visualizing a 1929 style mile long queue at the Labour Exchange.
Others like to buy slabs of £1 chocolate bars, at the insistence of cashiers at the tills of WHSmith. ‘They’re only 99p Sir, would make a great Christmas present. Oh yes Sir I guess it is only July but nevertheless you don’t want to miss such a great bargain.’
Moving Christmas forward to October means that these people begin wrapping Christmas presents in early August when the rest of us are slapping on the sun cream. They collect cardboard boxes all year round, cut up strips with a Stanley knife so they can make bespoke boxes. But in October of course there’s no Santa. He’s busy in Lapland. So instead these people get a Halloween monster or witch to deliver their presents and if the recipients don’t like the present it gets tossed on the bonfire with Guy Fawkes. By the time late November arrives the recipients have written and sent off the thank you notes because they’re very polite people indeed and by the 30th November they are on to the next stage in the game – writing the thank you notes for the thank you notes.
‘Dear Aunt Maude, Thank you for your thank you note. I’m glad you liked my present. I hope you have a nice Christmas. Love from Janet.
So have a drink to all those daft folk this Christmas or have ’em put away!
Would you like to read a funny Christmas scene in my novel ‘The Catholic Woman’s Dying Wish.’ Towards the end of the novel a motley collection of dysfunctional individuals come together to share the festivities. It’s a bit naughty by the way!