“Ho ho ho, and welcome Christmas lovers to Winter Wunderland – note the trademarked “u” and slip on the festive disposable shoe covers as, friends, there will be effluvia! You are entering a land of joy and twinkles, a living embodiment of the Christmas spirit, but in a carpark next to the M25 and not living - our last goat suffocated beneath its reindeer mask. It was tragic. But onwards, onwards, join me as we tiptoe through this snow-covered archlike structure along a sparkling white path. Off-white. It was white, but we had a coach trip from north Surrey in earlier and, well, I’m not saying they were dirty, but we measure the liquid soap after every visit and after they’d left it had gone up. Never trust a man that covers his neck! That’s Christmas gift numero one, and that one’s complimentary! Provided you’ve all paid in full. £30. Thank you – and, stragglers, do keep to the left. As it says in the pamphlet which you all ticked the online box to claim you’d read in full, ahem.
Talking of filth, don’t worry about the sticky residue on the handrail coming down the steps – it’s only mincemeat. Right! The joy begins! We are in “Lapland”! Ignore the graffitied sign. We’re yet to properly clean the C and R off the L, but needless to say, a former disgruntled employee has been radically disciplined and can now be found working in Homebase despite having absolutely no decorating skills. That paintwork is just… deplorable. Eyes on me, please. And… inhale. Smell the pine-scented plug-ins while turning this way to look at the projection of a tree. Doesn’t it just transport you to a better place? A place of crisp snow, warm feelings, itchy wallets, what? It’s Christmas!
Keep inhaling as we enter the magical tunnel of lights, but hold your breath by the steps – there’s an eggy smell, the source of which we’re yet to identify. Can you hear the beautiful music? You at the back, with the face like spilt milk, listen to the beautiful music! Rude. These songs were recorded by my own fair hands, off the radio, on Christmas day itself, 1994. I remember exactly where I was standing, because it was the day my first wife told me she was leaving, and Mariah Carey came on so I told her to shhh. There! Did you hear it?
As we enter the misty clearing, a vision emerges out of the fog. What’s that? A fleet of reindeer! Squint, it’s better that way. Yes, what my new wife Chandell has done, very cleverly, with her many creative gifts, is commandeered two abandoned mopeds and transformed them with Ikea rugs and just a flash of her inimitable sexuality, into Dasher and Dancer, etc. If you are a) under 5ft, b) under 5st, and c) not a wriggler, please step forward for an opportunity to be photographed in their saddles. Don’t forget to jingle your bells! Here is where the goat died.
We all know what reindeers mean… Santa can’t be far away. Follow me, single file, into the elves’ workshop (under construction). Be careful of sticking out nails and uneven carpet tiles (those naughty elves). On your right you’ll see a number of toys under the lamp that are still warm to the touch, see, the eyes melting slightly, the tears of a doll who doesn’t want to be wrapped in plastic and buried beneath a tree! Ahhh. And an iPad – who asked for an iPad for Christmas? Yes, you, and you? Perhaps this is a good time, parents, to discuss the dangers of internet pornography and how much screen time damages the brain? Hmm? If you look closer, you’ll notice this iPad is actually a mirror covered in toxic marker pen. It’s a metaphor! Look it up.
Here we are, at the door to Santa’s Grotto, a place of comfort and tinsel, the original man-cave, if you will. And you will, sir! Right? Hahaha. Feel free to stroke the flocked wallpaper and enjoy the cosy effect of a very low ceiling, though please be careful not to smash your head through it, it’s only polystyrene. We based this room on a photo of my uncle’s lounge in 1977. Simpler times, I think you’ll agree. I spent happy Sundays there before he went… away. Here is a throne inspired by the one Dave and Victoria Beckham had at their wedding, and here, entering through the beaded curtain, it’s… oh Jesus Christ, Joel, could you not have showered first? It’s Santa!
Sure, you may have seen pictures of a jolly, rotund gentleman with rosy cheeks and a laugh for everyone, but in real life, Father Christmas has had a hard couple of years post-referendum and his marriage collapsing as he and his wife realised they no longer knew each other, and he lost a lot of weight. A lot of weight. Which is great, probably, diabetes-wise, but means his suit hangs slightly baggily on his belly, legs and neck. Jump up on to his knee, one by one, and tell him if you’ve been good this year. No? Nobody? Well. There’s a small biscuit there for each of you on the way out and please don’t be shy as you pass the tip jar. We don’t want the elves to go hungry again and Christmas is all about giving. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Tickets are non-refundable.”
One more thing
Nancy Pelosi left the White House after an icy meeting with Trump, in a wonderful red coat. Director Barry Jenkins, of Moonlight fame, wrote a whole love letter to it on Twitter. ‘From the asymmetrical front to the high collar, strong yet unstrained shoulder and, of course, that colour,’ he swooned. ‘Soft power wielded like a machete through the diligent, decisive act of dressing.’ Fashion editor Vanessa Friedman wrote, ‘The coat whispered ‘burn’.’
Trinity is Louisa Hall’s elegant novel about Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, told through the eyes of fictional characters with whom he comes into contact. It leaves you with the dazed feeling that trying to understand a person, to really know them, is an impossible task.
At a recent Taylor Swift concert, facial recognition cameras took photos of fans, cross-referencing them with hundreds of Swift’s known stalkers. The kiss-cam is evolving…
Email Eva at e.wiseman@observer.co.uk or follow her on Twitter @EvaWiseman
