Follow that Star

It is now officially Christmas in our house.  Every household has signs and symbols for the particular festive seasons.  It matters not that the television has been running a smorgasboard of festive trailers for weeks, if your particular ‘sign’ has not appeared, much like the star for the three wise men, then it is not time to get jolly or leap astride your camel.

All of our stars are in alignment.  I shall elucidate:

• A giant pile of satsumas (I shun clementines and their evil ways), rotting in a bowl on the kitchen table.  We couldn’t get enough of them four weeks ago. Now we would rather suck cold sprouts than eat another one, but I keep buying them anyway.  It is CHRISTMAS.  Must have SATSUMAS. I threw three with beards in the bin today.  Only another eighteen to go before the next batch arrives with the Ocado order.  I hope they are not ganging up and going to stage a coup.
• A large pile of Christmas cards sent by other people which are sitting on the shelf in the kitchen, not neatly displayed but in a teetering pile, which slides off every time someone breathes hard nearby it.  I keep meaning to do something ‘displayish’ with them.  I stuck three to the fridge door with blu tack, got incredibly hacked off when they kept falling off every time I opened the door, and lost the will to continue.  I also feel guilty, because we don’t send any.  Except ones that the kids make by hand for their friends and which I refuse to get envelopes for.  I am miserable.  But not as miserable as Oscar, who decided to send one to his arch nemesis at Nursery and demanded that I write ‘Happy Christmas dear X.  You are stinky.’  I said I did write it, but I didn’t.  I really am miserable aren’t I?
• The fact that the fridge is stuffed with things we do not eat for the rest of the year, but which becomes strangely irresistible at Christmas.  I have three jars of pickled red cabbage and some interesting cheeses to prove it. I have also gone slightly ‘storing for the apocalypse’ in my approach to pickled onions.  I like them all year round, but I am very worried we will run out over Christmas.  Why this should be when the Londis shop stays open even during an actual apocalypse I am not sure.  Then there is the fact that only I like them.  But, should the whole family to convert to the ways of the pickle, and the Londis shop run out, we should be fine.  I have four large jars and a small jar of pickled shallots to fall back on.  Phew!
• And finally, I have bought the Christmas Radio Times.  This is the ultimate symbol that the festivities are upon us.  I never buy the Radio Times.  I abhor the Radio Times, but there is something so utterly, childishly exciting and complete about buying the Christmas one, and just like when I was a child, it still has silly cartoons of famous people in it, and weird, O.K. style sycophantic non interviews with slebs, and covers with robins on.  What joy.  I have not resorted to my greatest childhood delight yet, which was to find some kind of marker pen and ring everything I was going to watch, but I am tempted. Sorely tempted.  I will not get to watch any of the things I have marked. That is also the law of Christmas.  I shall instead be forced to play endless games of Connect Four, or watch Wallace and Gromit for the nine millionth time, or eat strange cheeses, but hey, it’s all part of the fun.

So tell me, how do you know Christmas is finally upon you? A prize to the person who entertains me the most.  Ritual goat slaying, home made pork pie making etc?

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