For those of us fortunate enough to be surrounded by friends and family in fiscal good health, the coming of Christmas presents a challenge.
In our house, we call it the toot-a-lanche, that mountain of small, amusing and often extremely thoughtful presents that threaten to turn your living quarters into an impromptu bric-a-brac shop. Frequently, they riff on an accepted character trait or enthusiasm; I, for an example, have been in receipt of upward of 100 bookmarks over the years, being a keen reader; ditto anything related to red wine or Arsenal Football Club. And I have done the same in return; when a sister-in-law casually ventured that she loved anything with a pom-pom back in June, I immediately filed it under a mental tab marked: Christmas – sorted.
Let us be honest; imagineering, sourcing and presenting this stuff can be draining, as can finding a home for the gifts coming your way. Only last week, I ruefully parted company with a collapsible plastic champagne flute for which I had simply not found the right occasion.
But there’s a solution. And it’s simple. Don’t do it.
Instead, give a gift of something useful, beautiful or both to someone who needs it. Last week, the Choose Love pop-up store opened in London’s Carnaby Street – to, eye-moisteningly enough, a cheer from the queue of people waiting patiently in the cold. The shop sells the things that refugees actually need: a hot meal, legal help, warm jackets, nappies; physical stuff that it’s hideous to have to do without and support mechanism that can be the building blocks of new lives. You can, for example, pay a fiver to provide someone with a lightweight, warm blanket or £30 towards mental health services. You can, if you have it spare, buy the whole shop for £599. All of this is also available online.
Every year, many of us vow not to get sucked into the madness of contemporary, commercialised Christmas; every year we do, even if just a little bit. But that’s fine. You can get teary at the John Lewis ad, or find yourself running up and down the supermarket canape section, or buy someone an inappropriate and indulgent gift. It doesn’t matter, it’s what we do.
But you can do something else, too, and something that should relieve some of the cognitive dissonance that Christmas entails. This year, of all years, it’s fine to admit that the future is uncertain, that life looks far from rosy for millions both here and around the world and that our political institutions appear to have lost the ability to guide us through that landscape. Pulling up the drawbridge and pretending it isn’t happening would be lovely, but we’re kidding ourselves if we think it’s possible right now. And for those without a drawbridge, that isn’t remotely an option. So don’t shut out the rest of the world – invite them in and give them a present.
