I’m sitting in my living room, looking at my Christmas tree. It’s been up a couple of weeks now, slightly glinting in the corner. Underneath it, there are piles of neatly wrapped presents - some in gold, some in reindeer paper. It is all very… festive.
This time last year, the government slipped us into Tier 4. It was a lockdown really, mostly covering the whole of the South of England. There were very few people vaccinated, and the government were yet to torpedo their own credibility with secret Christmas parties. Tier 4 meant that none of us could see our families - at least it did for us.
It’s different this year. It seems it’s much more up-to-us to decide what we’re going to risk and what we’re going to cancel in the festive season. I had a few things lined up - beer and carols, a barn dance gig, a work Christmas party - all cancelled, all giving me that weird mix of regret and relief.
That’s led to the unusual scenario of not having anything much to do in December, which in turn has given me space to put up my tree early, spend a few nights wrapping the prezzies, and generally enjoy Advent in the company of Bublé, Pentatonix, and a bottle of Christmas Mead that Sammy and I got from the farm shop.
The only cloudiness about it all is that around us, cases of Omicron are rising like the sea about a desert island. With the ten day isolation period, I’m just one positive lateral flow test away from spending this Christmas on my own, and I don’t wish to do that if I can help it.
The plan (at the moment) is to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with the Intrepids. I’ve booked my ‘seat’ at the Midnight Communion service (which I did miss last year) and I’ve got chocolates and cherry brandy to take round, along with a CD of Christmas carols from Windsor Castle; I’m hoping it'll do some heavy lifting against the Welsh Male Voice Choir who’ve been belting across the valleys in our house since about 1987.
It is a plan. But also, the waters are rising. There seem to be a lot more people coming into contact with Covid at the moment, whether it’s Omicron or not. Additionally, lots of organisations are cancelling events, which is a shame. For the first year since I was a kid, I’m not playing carols anywhere for any reason - not even online like I did last year! I’m sad about that, but I understand it.
It’s just reminding me that I have to hold Christmas lightly. I never want to spend it alone, and thankfully so far I’ve never had to. But, if I do, I want to remain thankful. I’d want to feel as though I did my best to do what Dickens describes as ‘keeping Christmas in my heart’. Everything else - from face-timing Sammy, to actually going to my parents and being with them, from games nights with friends, to a packed Boxing Day with all my family… would be a bonus.
So. I’m sitting in my living room, looking at my Christmas tree. Owned it for five years, put it up twice. Those years of racing around in December, carolling here, queuing in twinkly shops for last minute presents there - never having time nor inclination to come home to a cold living room and put up the tree… those days are gone now.
And weirdly now, in this year, when the chances of doing Christmas alone are higher than ever, I’m absolutely not afraid of it. I think I’ve realised that there’s a real difference between being alone and being lonely. But that? That’s for another time.
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