Observed by your neighbours, Christmas will arrive early on the street once more as your mother demands on erecting what can only be described as a 50ft mule in highly flammable fairy lights along the lane. "They were out of Rudolphs," she cries, as she foolishly left it until Halloween had passed to purchase decorations. Yes, the festivities will come thick and fast, and so they should after a year of ups, downs.
Giddiness will return
Expect the glint to return to your brother Sean’s eye, as he shoots highly potent chemicals in your direction, a glee in his eyes not seen since the foot and mouth scare allowed for such a cavalier attitude to hand sanitiser. He has seen Home Alone 2 for the eighth time on TG4 this year, having pivoted back to having pints at home rather than the pub, such were his money lows following eight straight months of eating indoors.
For obvious reasons, the family’s traditional in-person hooley will remain shelved for those living out yonder. Instead, a gargantuan Zoom call will take place, stretching our heartstrings and ear drums to the hilt. Since it will include friends, family, sort of family, other halves of family and a number of grandchildren – all in different time zones – I’m going to estimate at least 10 per cent of some 27 participants will be unable to get their audio working, and a further 20 per cent will at some point disable their audio on purpose.
Christmas presents sent to those abroad will consist of classics you didn’t realise you liked until you moved 12,000 miles away – Ballymaloe Relish, Jacob’s Kimberlies and unconsecrated communion wafers. “You just can’t get them abroad,” your mother will say.
Covid-adjacent gifts will remain the order of the day, with jazzy masks and sexy hand sanitiser looking to fill stockings for the foreseeable future. Little did we know how good we had it with socks.
Bublé is back
Christmas ads will, too, follow suit – opting for a disturbingly attractive Mrs Claus dressing only in KN95 masks as she waits for her husband, anarchic seasonal trespasser Santa Claus, to remove himself from the space-time continuum. John Lewis, meanwhile, will resurrect Michael Bublé from his crypt and drape him about a series of wooden blocks and Playstations, ensuring the store will crown itself as the true deity from a prelapsarian time of plenty.
A lapsed festive season can only mean one thing: a doubly chaotic celebration resulting in twice the joy and thrice the Baileys. However, given the state of many people’s affairs – and lobbying from brother Seán who remains in debt by way of purchasing forty kilos of pub peanuts since April – Kris Kindle will colonise the family’s gift giving once more, ensuring that the gifting process remains shorter than that of electing a new pope.
Children may become wise to this, however, and ask for double the RSL (Recommended Santa List), to which you must reply that a new Santy rule has developed, and that those who ask for too much will have to receive an anti-greed vaccine, to be distributed by Marty Morrissey himself.
Meaningful Christmas once more
Finally, we’ll once again rediscover the true meaning of an Irish Christmas: one of red-faced chaos. A time in which no one is ever ready, delicate bone china is used despite your mother’s legitimate fear of imminent explosion, and our national tune – Fairytale of New York – becomes a bone of contention due to genuine slurs used throughout. This year, the faces will remain red and the debate heavy, but prepare yourself for a number of off-brand neologisms – social distancing! Maskne! Substantial meals! – to be screamed at every meal. May God bless us, everyone.
