Christmas has come early

This is September. I am still in flip flops. I wore a light skirt today. The air is balmy. I have not yet retired my summer wardrobe. I am not even at university. It hasn't even been Halloween yet.

So tell me, please, why on earth are there boxes of mince pies and christmas cakes creeping onto the shelves of Tesco?

It gets worse.

Sauntering past the huge display window of Paperchase, my hands laden with carrier bags, I glanced idly in the window. I looked away, searching to see if a bus was about to come, when I paused. Looked back. Is that-? Could that really be-? Yes, dammit, it IS! Christmas trees in flipping SEPTEMBER! The lady selling the Big Issue eyed me oddly as a look of irritation crossed my face and my fists clenched. The artfully placed christmas trees gazed back at me, innocuous. These weren't your everyday christmas trees either. Fluorescent pink? Shocking white? I don't care whether they're featured in The Times Magazine again this year. I don't care whether everyone who's anyone gushes over them and recommends them as a 'must have'. I don't care whether I'm conservative; traditionalist; dowdy; old-fashioned. There is nothing cool or desirable about a plastic, neon yellow tree. As for the cheap looking soot black models- well. Who on earth would want a black christmas tree? Some unfortunate soul who is celebrating a funeral at the same time? A wannabe Morticia Addams who's taken their obsession a bit too far? I can just see it now: some corporate fat cat rubbing their hands in glee, before narrowing their eyes: "next year we'll roll them out even earlier".

Here are the words I never thought I'd ever, EVER say in my idealistic youth: I hate Christmas. The commercial gimmicks; the ploys; the endless wandering around shops wondering what to buy people and then plumping for either the mundane and impersonal (chocolates; socks), or frittering your hard earned cash on something which seems at the time like a good idea, but turns out to be utterly unusable, which you know, just know will A) lurk at the back of their wardrobe until the end of time or B) be 'recycled' as some other unwitting soul's 'gift'. And Christmas Day? Well, that's always a let down. Someone always seems to pop round uninvited and hence the roast potatoes are overdone and the gravy goes lumpy (I sense a "just stir it Uma!" moment coming on) or there's absolutely nothing on on the telly. It's true- the telly can make or break a Christmas...and usually it's a disappointment. I'm sorry executives at the BBC, (I'm sure your hefty bonus will sweeten the pill) re-runs and repeats really don't make for good Christmas viewing. Unless you're a fan, that is, of the soaps that offer the somewhat festive and endearing tidings of explosions at Albert Square, kidnappings, shootings, wailing females' mascara running as they sob hysterically, assorted limbs being gorily blown off and yes, the piece de resistance: a well-loved character, looking pale and shocky, croaking what they vainly hope is a heartwrenching 'goodbye' from the intensive care ward (but is normally a "look! Doesn't- my- wooden- expression- and- perfectly- made- up- face- despite- the- fact- I'm- supposed- to- have- been- in- a- car- crash- perfectly- convey- my- pain??" ). Ah yes, if that's your thing then you certainly have many happy, reassuring, heart-warming soaps to gorge on, inbetween the obligatory crammed handfuls of Quality Street.

So, yeah. I'll warn you now. Don't expect a card from me when the time arrives- this year I'm not doing Christmas, daaahling... Unless, of course, some handsome suitor wishes to spirit me away for a Christmas Vacation somewhere exotic? Paris? Vienna? New Year in New York?

Thought not. Ah well, I'm sure The Queen's Speech will warm my thawed heart en lieu. You don't know what you're missing...

Tags: Christmas Paperchase Christmas Tree Television Queen's Speech