This year it seems that the whole world has decided Christmas starts on the first day of December, factually the first day of metrological winter. As someone who prefers to leave a decent interval between Guy Fawkes and the festive season it makes me appear a party pooper when I protest as each decorated tree goes up on Facebook. In fact, I leave that to Mr McGregor who mutters darkly about everything in the run up to the big day as ‘not necessary’.

However, over the last decade or so we have been pitchforked into an early celebration which has also means an even earlier start to present buying and card writing, but not decorating! This is because with my mother in a nursing home my siblings (five in total)and myself, used to visit her near Christmas time and we would take the opportunity to visit family living nearby. This ultimately led to the hiring of a hall to accommodate us all and it has grown into a family tradition, surviving the passing of our mother in 2021.

The Kent sisters organise the booking of the venue, hopefully with a bar, and announce it via an events page on Facebook. There is an immediate flurry of activity as the nearest hotel is identified and booked. Next comes the list of who is bringing what for the obligatory and necessary buffet. I have been designated mince pie provider this year so festive cooking started early in our house.

As this year’s community centre doesn’t have a bar I am taking wine boxes too as French ones are a more generous size and a lower price. Plus there is always the Poundland bran tub. I’m not sure who came up with the idea but it has become a popular fixture. Each present must be no more than a pound sterling and bought from Poundland. I scan the brochures from Aldi and Lidl and buy some festive and low priced nonsense. The three youngest family members have their own designated tub.

The present planning and buying begins and the pile on the landing gets bigger. As it grows, dependant in part on requests from our boys for favourite French edible goodies, Mr McGregor and myself can be heard muttering ‘will it all go in?’ each time we pass! It always does, of course, with some pushing and shoving and praying we don’t get a puncture and have to empty the boot!

The actual event is a noisy affair, bien sur. Especially if a DJ has been hired in deference to the ‘youngsters’. The older generation wince and have shouted conversations with hands cupped around ears. Even without a DJ there will be music and at a certain point ‘we are family’ will belt out and all five sisters and our baby (!) brother will sway onto the floor joining in with ‘I have all my sisters with me’…

The middle generation of nieces and nephews aka cousins will catch up on their past year and talk kids, work, gigs, football, fishing ..while their offspring, all of whom are now teenagers, huddle together poring over their phones and rolling their eyes at the antics of their embarrassing parents and grandparents. The two youngest boy cousins, born within a few months of each other, race around playing impenetrable games as only small boys can!

As the evening comes to an end there is a rush to swap Christmas carrier bags with one another while someone sorts the Christmas cards into family piles. Before the clearing up starts there will be shouts to get organised into a huddle for the group photo (this year we forgot!) Several will be taken by the chosen photographer to be WhatsApped around the family later. There is also the obligatory sibling photo where we stand in a chronological line, sometimes with offspring representing a missing parent. For days afterwards our group chat will be filled with other random photos taken by one another. A family page on Facebook will share the best with cousins across the Atlantic.

Back at the hotel there might be time for a last drink in the bar when the drivers can down some alcohol at last. But if not we know there’s always Sunday breakfast to come when conversations can be continued and lost items restored to rightful owners.

Trying to describe this now annual event to a neighbour I was asked if Christmas is celebrated at a different time in the UK! No, I wanted to reply, only by my bonkers family! 🙂