Look, I don’t want to brag, but I pride myself on being a Christmassy Person. For the entire month of December, I am never knowingly not quaffing Baileys or listening to the Love Actually soundtrack. And don’t get me started on Yuletide activities. Anyone fancy the panto? Carols by Candlelight? No? You’re right, we should find a singalong version.
But behind the thin veil of festive cheer lurks a niggling suspicion: are my efforts to create a perfect Christmas actually making things a bit … stressful? If I’m being truthful (and one should be at this time of year if Richard Curtis, patron saint of Christmas, is to be believed), underneath, I am a quivering ball (bauble?) of tension. I put so much pressure on myself and everyone else to embrace the festive spirit that I end up frazzled and lacking any sense of it.
It all starts in autumn, when my quest to source the perfect present for each recipient begins, usually culminating in my having a panic attack in John Lewis because I can’t find a suitable merino sweater for my brother-in-law (he will give me a jar of miso).
Then there are the cards to consider: each one should contain a well-crafted note. Perhaps even a little haiku? Hmm, maybe I should start hand-stamping my wrapping paper.
“More lights! More tinsel!” I cry, insisting that we erect an enormous tree no later than 16 November. While we’re on the topic of greenery: the wreath. Mine is, of course, hand-crafted using locally foraged materials. What do you take me for? Someone who buys decorations in a shop?
But Christmas food is where I really lose all sense of reason. I simply must make everything from scratch: the mince pies, the Christmas pud, even the chocolate truffles – never deigning to so much as buy ready-made brandy butter.
As a result, I spend Christmas Eve not doing puzzles and drinking sherry as Jesus would have wanted, but rolling out marzipan and swearing under my breath. “Please,” cry my family. “At least let us buy the custard.”
Like a martyr, I refuse. Last year, I ignored them entirely for three hours to focus on making my own clementine-infused crème pâtissière. It formed just one layer of a magnificent winter trifle which everyone – stuffed from Christmas lunch – politely picked at, as I eyeballed them manically.
“WELL?” I asked. “IS IT THE BEST THING YOU’VE EVER EATEN IN YOUR LIFE?” Sure, the trifle was nice, but I think we’d all have had a nicer time without it.
I get it from my mother, who locks herself in the kitchen on Christmas Day, haughtily refusing offers of assistance. Little does she realise that things would be more enjoyable if she got a bit sloshed and invited everyone to muck in.
Still, I’m reserving judgement because I am no better. Oh, the time I’ve wasted making complicated food that nobody wanted when I could have bought a 12-pack of mince pies from Gail’s and everyone would have been delighted.
Why didn’t I realise sooner? Pursuing the perfect Christmas is pointless. You will never achieve it and, in trying to, you will ruin the whole thing and end up disappointed. Really, it’s better to aim for one that is just, you know, quite nice. You actually don’t have to serve the pudding with homemade brandy butter. Really, ice cream is better. You don’t even need a massive tree. A little potted one really can look quite jolly.
And can I let you in on a secret? Nobody cares about cards. They really do just get binned on Boxing Day. It’s taken me 30 years but I reckon I’ve finally cracked it: Christmas is not a hill to die on.
Tips for a stress-free Christmas (from a recovering perfectionist)
Stay away from Oxford Street
Do this at all costs – and especially if you don’t even live in London. There is nothing available here that is not available on the internet or in your own area and opting for the latter will save your sanity. Fine, visit your local high street. Support small businesses. But nothing good will ever happen on Oxford Street, in Westfield Shopping Centre or at any similar commercial centre.
Don’t bite off more than you can chew, culinarily speaking
It’s far better to make one thing well than many things badly. Sure, make the trifle. But buy the Christmas pudding. If you want to push the boats out, get it from LilyPuds. Prices start at £8.50 and they are so good they claim to convert even the most ardent of Christmas pud haters. Homemade, too (even if not by you). And if you have a vegetarian coming over, may I point you in the direction of the £7 Tesco Finest Roasted Butternut Squash Galette (which got top marks in Good Housekeeping’s blind taste test).
Delegate
I know! It’s tough. What if people don’t chop the onions correctly? What if the stuffing isn’t chestnutty enough? Not your problem. The beauty of delegation is that if things go wrong you have someone else to blame. Plus, cooking together can actually be quite jolly if you crank up Mariah Carey and have a sherry on the go.
Do away with the ‘perfect gift’
Sure, if there’s something particular you know someone would like, I permit you to get it. But do not agonise if nothing springs to mind. Just bulk-buy some nice booze and candles and dish them out at random. Or just get the same thing for everyone. A good pair of slippers always goes down well.
Accept that it will not be perfect
This one is vital. Close your eyes, take some deep breaths, and repeat after me: “Christmas is not a hill to die on.” Once you have done this, make the decision that when things go tits up, as they inevitably will, that you will choose not to lash out at your well-meaning relatives, but instead to laugh about it, pour yourself a large Baileys and go and play “Ticket to Ride”.