THREE XMASES |
I’ve had three types of Christmas in my life so far. The UK 1970s and 80s edition: house smells of tangerines, Sellotape and anticipation. My half-cut stressed out Mum sets fire to the brandy on the pudding and the tablecloth. The turkey arrives with all the trimmings and all the timings wrong. Three types of potatoes like some small miracle, sprouts like community service, bread sauce and parsnips that appear once a year and we all pretend are normal.
There are the board games, which is to say, formalised arguments. Someone always moves a piece “just to see” and games don’t get finished. Music is carols on the stereo and a surprisingly in-tune choir of relatives – there were musicians in my family. The Wizard of Oz turns up on television, as legally required, and we watch it eagerly even though we know it’s just a guy behind a curtain.
Then came the married-with-child era, set in Catalonia and lit by the soft glow of Pixar. British telly gives........