Trees and holly

I really cannot believe it. Christmas is almost here once again. I love Christmas; its my favorite time of the year. I don't know about you but I have been heartily filling up on mince pies and madeira wine, as well as decking the halls with boughs of holly and trying to do a bit of much-needed revision (I confess the latter has proved to be the hardest). I got the Christmas tree a few days ago; just so happened that was the day of the great blizzard and the car got stuck in the snow behind several other stranded cars, and so I had to make my way home carrying an 8 foot tree up a hill and through the snow. Ho ho ho. And of course I have been slipping and sliding in the ice (as per usual... I don't think I even have a centre of gravity), watching the Christmas lights and decorating the tree, but this year I have tried to steer clear of hysterical mothers and children dressing each other up in fanciful costumes made out of foam and lycra, and as such I confess that I have not quite felt the sincere religious element to Christmas. However, after listening to the King's College carol service which is, of course, very beautiful (better than our school carol service put it that way) I have been reminded that Christmas is not just about being a mince-pie-munching-turkey-devouring-present-hogging dinosaur. In my fit of nostalgia, I remembered how at my preparatory school we would do the annual nativity play, the only production which always made an effort to include every pupil in the Junior part of the school, and consequently and inevitably all their mothers as well. 


I have never been much of an actress, but when made to as schools generally enforce, I would generally prefer either to play the humorous fool or else the emotionally complex Machiavellian villain (complete with evil laugh). However despite my convictions I was consistently cast as the Angel Gabriel, which as you can imagine I was able to play with as much grace as Ann Widdecombe on roller-skates. As coincidentally suiting as the role may seem, it did not exactly match with my bouncy temperament and religious ambiguity (I was still, by this point, trying to make up my mind as to whether or not Jesus had walked on water... the only conclusion was that it was an exceptionally cold year and he was using ice-skates). But every time I pitched my thoughts, I was told it was either Gabriel or a sheep. 


The year before my promotion to the big-cheese angel, was the year I first featured in and saw a nativity play. From my teachers' flowery explanation and frequent use of the word "miracle," I was expecting to be blown away by the production. Unfortunately, the mums and the pathetic excuses for actors that they called their offspring failed to bring the characters to life in the way I had hoped.  And the story just seemed to center around everyone being really impressed with Jesus and there wasn't much plot suspense, dramatic irony, character depth and not a single battle scene. And yet, all the parents seemed to be enthralled by the production. I could see that the story had potential, but I was rather disappointed by the experience. The following year I decided that on day I was going to take matters into my own hands. My opportunity came when I was in the final year of the Junior school, and so of course felt very superior and independent, oblivious to the truth of that I was still only at the age of when one thinks Leonardo da Vinci is a famous actor who played in a film called Titanic which is about a boat invaded by aliens.
All the teachers had gone for a coffee break and so the only remaining adults were a couple of parents who had been cooking with wine and brandy and had occasionally put some in the food.
I stood up and said with great determination that I was going to reinvent the production, and that this time it would be AMAZING. I began with my own part.


I ad-libbed my lines with great sincerity, punctuating my words in a very thespian manner and announcing  to where the audience would sit how Mary was to give birth to Jesus, the son of God.
My attention then turned to the girl who was to play Mary. I felt that the plight of the character needed to be emphasized. The audience really needed to understand that she was suffering. I constructed her costume accordingly. I ruffled up her blue cloak (why is it always blue?), back-combed her hair and made her talk with a croaking stammer and walk with a cane and a limp. She was also deaf. 
I demanded that Joseph shout at the inn-keeper with passionate rage until he let them in.
It was finally time for Jesus to be born. Due to my incomplete understanding of childbirth, the scene I directed involved Jesus being tossed across the room, as if in flight, and then Mary running over to where he landed and acting really surprised to find him there.
I then ordered for the Three Kings to come and present their gifts. They came on stage and yelled, as if the baby Jesus were partially deaf or mentally challenged "HELLO JESUS. WE COME BEARING GIFTS." They stretched out their hands which were empty. I ordered for the two mothers who were now giggling uncontrollably and were also pretty intoxicated to find something the Three Kings could present to the baby Jesus. They scavenged around the room for a few minutes and then returned bearing a flower vase, a pack of cigarettes and an Elvis Presley cassette. I told them that it wouldn't do; Jesus doesn't like Elvis Presley. They replied: "Oh of course Jesus does. He and Elvis share one common trait... they are both immortal". And they both broke into raucous laughter. At this point the teachers came back to see how we were getting on, and saw two parents in hysterics, Joseph gone ballistic, Mary having an epileptic fit, and Jesus lying in the manger with a packet of fags. 


So lets all forget our troubles and enjoy Christmas with family and friends, in the spirit of giving and loving. In all honesty, Christmas is my favorite time of the year, and so this leaves me with just one more thing to say;


MERRY CHRISTMAS ONE AND ALL.