A family affair ... EastEnders at Christmas
Belatedly - I was buried in deepest Sussex in the bosom of my family - I have finally caught up with what happened in Albert Square over Christmas, and it was vintage stuff; EastEnders back on cracking form.
Bradley pushed Max into the Christmas tree (a horrible fake white one) after having it brutally revealed to him that his new wife Stacey had spent much of the past year shagging his Dad. We later learned that Jake Wood, the actor playing Max, had had lots of padding inserted under his Santa suit and that all the presents were full of padding, too, so that was all right really. Not since Den gave Ange divorce papers (or possibly not since Dennis was stabbed and died in Sharon's arms) has there been a more dramatic festive edition, and this one delivered the viewers in spades: BBC bosses must be chuffed to have trumped Coronation Street's poxy 9.6m viewers with a peak of 13.9m people glued to 'Stenders.
So why do we relish such misery at Christmas? It's certainly schadenfreude: nobody's Gran is as awful as Mo; nobody's mum is as batty as Jean. It's certainly escapism: however much you've been enjoying the turkey, the pud and the rivers of alcohol, Christmas is pretty intense and it's good to be relieved by something we're all familiar with. Soaps thrive on being recognisable, comfortable, not particularly challenging - in short, something to retreat to.
But above all - and warning, this is where it gets a bit mushy - I think it reminds us that our families, however idiosyncratic, however grumpy, belong to us; warts, bad breath, worse jokes and all. Christmas is a time for families: our families. So catching up on the skilfully written and delivered misery in EastEnders made me appreciate my family even more than ever. I hope it did the same for you, too.
