My Christmas Eve ritual is not to be toyed with…
Every December 24 since I was about 18, I’ve made a point of taking a few minutes of solitude to listen to that absolute belter, alone and smiling reflectively.
Fairytale of New York by The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl is quite simply the only Christmas song that is too good to only be a Christmas song, and if I could get away with blasting it in August, I would.
It is an undisputed highlight of the festive airwaves all December long, yet there is something about listening to it on the day to which its lyrics refer (and with the full concentration) that gives me goosebumps. Therefore, to do so is part of my unshakable Christmas Eve ritual.
Today will be no exception, and with a Guinness in hand I will get misty-eyed and nod to the dulcet tones of Shane MacGowan as he reacquaints me with all of my ghosts of Christmases past.
This will be followed very swiftly with a viewing of the Muppet Christmas Carol, as I do the best job a bloke can do of wrapping presents while imbibing a second Guinness and some lovely Christmas cheese. Bellissimo.
The acceptability of the at-home cheese board is one of the things I love most about Christmas. If, of course, unlike me, you live in the prim and proper civilised world, you may keep a decent variety of the old fromage in to keep guests (and more importantly, yourself) sated throughout the year. But – as much as I love it – not I. Granted, you’ll always find my fridge beholden with an ample stock of cheddar. But Brie, Boursin and Bavarian smoked – these fine treats only rear their heads in my house at about the same time as Bublé comes out of his cave each year. And as he retreats come January 6, so does the Roquefort, Raclette and Ricotta.
Yet, for the other 11 months of the year, absence of a cheese board at Casa del Dan is out of sheer forgetfulness rather than self-control. And so, as we move towards 2023, I think I’ll try and keep the platter prolific for a bit longer. Who…
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