Somewhere during the daily routine of writing, domestic chores, exercise and the odd social event, I have lost two months. This fact hit me this afternoon when I was walking through Edinburgh's John Lewis Partnerships to the Melting Pot. I was mid-thought about changes I planned to make to a truly cringeworthy chapter, when I saw it: Christmas tree, complete with coloured baubles, tinsel and fairy lights. Today, unless I truly have lost the place, is September 27. On automatic pilot, I quickened my step, eager to distance myself from what I'd seen. In fact, I was so distracted that I walked straight past the post office, forgetting to buy stamps for an important letter to the HMRC. In previous years, I have inwardly groaned at the sight of those appearances towards the end of October, often wishing I lived somewhere where Christmas preparations don't begin until well into December. As should be the case.
I thought of those hit hard by the recession, perhaps just clearing their debts from taking their families away for a few days over the summer, to escape the heavy rains and dreary white, untextured skies. And now they are faced with this ridiculously early reminder that another Christmas is upon us and more money - whether or not it exists - will be required for presents and unjustifiably large quantities of food and booze.
This must be one of the worst aspects of our commercialised western society. We are constantly being urged to buy for a pending occasion. Christmas cards followed by Valentine cards followed by Easter cards followed by Mother's Day cards and finally Father's Day cards. Not to mention birthday cards, new home cards, 'thank you' cards, 'sorry' cards, retirement cards, 'thinking of you' cards and bereavement cards. As soon as one occasion is done, the shelves are filled in preparation for the next event
But cards are not the only item continuously forced on our consciousness. What about reminders of another school term? Hardly have the little blighters finished the summer term before British Home Stores and other similar outlets display huge posters advertising 'Back to School', featuring charcoal-coloured skirts, white shirts and sensible black shoes.
We are, it seems, always being rushed on. I would like it to be easier to stay in the present. I resent being reminded of Christmas in September, when possibly still thinking nostalgically about the summer that's just finished. Perhaps even hoping for some more Indian summer days before the leaves finally drop and the frost sets in.
How about a ground swell of objection to Christmas paraphernalia appearing before November? How about gagging those people who ask us brightly in October if we are 'organised for Christmas"? How about mandatory cognitive behavioural therapy to counter the anxiety as people throng the shops in a state of heightened sense of purpose, buying presents for relatives they'd happily not see around the festive period and selecting pre-made plum puddings in case their culinary skills simply aren't up to preparing one from scratch?
How about leaving us to enjoy the seasons as they happen?
Hmm.
P.S. It's official: Christmas is here and will be for the next three months. In M& S, whilst I innocently searched for slippers and some endorphins-producing chocolate, the tannoy announced the sale of Christmas cards and wrapping paper. At the pay desk, I contemplated asking the assistant if she found this depressing, but I reckoned I already looked like a miserable old git and shouldn't further dampen her spirits by checking out how she feels about premature promotion of the 'festive' season.
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