Iciclated & Mince-pied: I was a child of acquired tastes

During Christmas certain things are, unfortunately, inevitable. You know that you will eat too much, drink too much, spend too much and ultimately vomit at some point. With all of this going on, it’s virtually impossible to focus on the real meaning of the most festive of all seasons. Contemporary Christmas is little more than an extensive marketing ploy which leads you to eat too much, drink too much, spend too much and ultimately vomit at some point. Can you see a pattern forming?

I suppose my untainted Christmas joy began to fade when I was eight years old and a certain fellow member of third class (lets call her Tracey) decided to inform her less street-smart peers of a few Santa-related home truths. It was one of the first, “Oh God, life is actually a big ball of crap” moments I’ve ever experienced.

Existence as I knew it was forever altered. Did this mean there was no God, and, more importantly, who the hell kept putting money under my pillow when my teeth fell out? I don’t think I’ve ever looked at my parents quite the same way again.

But it’s not all bad - before Traceygate it was all gravy. I remember the excitement at receiving my Forever Friends play house when I was four. I believe epic is the word. It was orange - when I was four, everything had to be orange. I essentially lived there for about a week until the novelty wore off and one of the load-bearing plastic poles gave way. Good times. When I was seven, I accumulated one of my most successful Christmas collections - Dustin the Turkey’s magnum opus Faith of our Feathers, a Father Ted box set, a bright blue Adidas shell suit, and the most amazing purple bike you’ve ever seen. I was a child of acquired tastes.

In contrast, recent Christmas days seem somewhat dull. I no longer want to get up at five o’clock in the morning to inspect presents as my annual pyjama haul pales in comparison to the heady youthful days of the 1990s.

In an attempt to recapture some festive spirit, I plan to spend this Christmas day eating a selection box for breakfast, watching The Santa Clause trilogy in one sitting and pumping out the Mistletoe and Wine. When my faith in humanity is dwindling, a bit of Cliff Richard usually does the trick.