Christmas Day Cabin Fever.

I suppose I’ll have to forego my daily walk tomorrow. I’ve always gone for a walk on previous Christmas Days and always been accosted by somebody either out for a pre-lunch ramble to work up an appetite, or a post-lunch trudge to burn off a few calories. And it is an unassailable fact attested by bitter experience that people are quite incapable of walking past you on Christmas Day without saying something.

Merry Christmas is the commonest, in which case I feel obliged against my better nature to gird up my loins and offer something in return by way disingenuous reciprocation.

Have you had a good Christmas? is less common, but it causes the bigger problem. To answer ‘yes’ would be more than disingenuous; it would be an outright lie. To answer ‘no’ would risk inviting sympathy and that would never do. And so the only way to escape the clutches of my inquisitors is to be honest and simply say ‘I don’t do Christmas.’ But then, as you might expect, such a statement is inevitably met with a reluctant and defamatory smile followed by the accusation of ‘Scrooge!’ So what do I do then, reply that they’ve either never read A Christmas Carol or, if they have, completely misunderstood it? It’s all too much effort.

I suppose the best way of addressing this problem would be to somehow contrive to make merry in some way, and then I can simply answer ‘yes thanks, have you?’ The day would be honoured, cordial relations maintained, and the cultural imperative properly observed. And we’d all be happy, wouldn’t we? But I haven’t a clue how to go about it. Better stay home.