A Christmas like no other – but a waymark in our life stories for all its strangeness

How was Covid Christmas for you? Irrespective of specifics, it seems safe to say it’s not one any of us will ever forget.

Like so many, our original plans were first disrupted, then thwarted – a much anticipated gathering with my parents, and an outdoors meeting with my brother, postponed until the virus abates and restrictions ease. When that will be; who can tell? Not Boris. Not any of us.

The kids, initially down-hearted, put on a brave face and focussed on the thought of presents. I felt sad – maybe resigned is more like it – and concentrated on the food and drink.

Christmas lunch was a close-run thing, mind you. Having intended to be elsewhere, our cupboards were fairly bare when the tier 4 announcement was made, and we wondered if we could make do with sausages and chips. It just didn’t seem right though – and in any case, if we did it once the children would never want to go back to traditional fare.

On Monday, I woke for no reason shortly after 6am; and in a growing, illogical panic, listened to news reports about queues at Dover – European borders firmly shut. The UK had become an unwitting Hotel California, all of us prisoners – of our own device or thanks to pure bad luck, depending on your point of view.

Like Corporal Jones, I fought against my instincts and failed. By 7am, I had joined the back of a queue containing 100 or more fellow desperados, all of whom had gone through the same thought processes as me. When at last I made it into the supermarket, I grabbed a chicken, a box of roses, tins of soup and many crisps, before scampering to the checkout. “Have a merry Christmas”, said the young woman at the till. It was all I could do to resist a “bah humbug” in return.

But of course she was right to be optimistic. And I knew that all other things being equal we probably would be merry, and so it came to pass. The children found wonder in Father Christmas’s delivery of a stocking full of goodies – even my daughter held on hard to the magic, even though she knows the terrible truth. I ate too much and repulsed my wife by gorging on sprouts. We walked round the block, under moderate protest.

I know there is a decent argument that the whole Christmas shebang is overdone; that so much emphasis is placed on its importance as a “perfect” holiday time, that large sums of money are spent by people who can ill afford it in an attempt to match expectations that have been created by sneaky marketing execs and the insidiousness of peer pressure. And that’s to say nothing of the departure from its Christian origins.

Will this year’s more muted celebrations change all that – make us tone down? It doesn’t feel very likely. A total blowout in 2021 seems more probable – whether that’s God-botherers like me overdoing it on the incense, carols and communion, or atheistic crowds worshipping at the inn on the high street.

Then again, it is by regular events that we waymark our lives. Surprises might come along now and again, but it is Christmases, New Year’s Eve parties, birthdays and summer bank holidays that enable us to keep time; to measure our earthly progression – our life story – against a knowable structure. No wonder we do our best to find the joy in those moments, however trying the circumstances.

It is, I know, easy for me to be sanguine about it. For those living on their own, or in care, or trapped in difficult relationships, the festive season may well have been anything but. Nevertheless, this moment remains a marker, even if it acts only to remind us of joys past or joys to come.

So, this Christmas may not have been a cracker. But I hope you found some light, and the prospect of brighter times – however far off they might seem. And I wish you a happy, less challenging new year.