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While more and more people neglect the religious intendment of Christmas, my own meaning continues to develop. Every year I talk further about the importance of having loved ones around at this time. 2009 proved no different. I recalled Christmas’s as a child, when all I’d acknowledge or base my happiness on was the appearence of every present on my list come the 25th.
I’ve ridden the Belfast Eye, made frantic dashes from one shop to the next, eaten shortbread in the shape of a Christmas tree, ventured out on ice laden roads and watched as snowstorms brought Europe to a stop. I’ve passed buskers and brass bands, sampled the Continental market, and had relief wash over me as I conquered the high street and left with what I came for.
It’s only November, but the Christmas rush has already begun. Countrywide, civilians are using their weekends to plough the high street and uncover that perfect gift. Jumping on the train to Lisburn, I guess you could say we were no different – although Christmas shopping wasn’t the primary aim. Rather, it was a spontaneous jaunt intended purely for the humble joy of the journey.
This time of year means different things to different people. For religious folks, the significance is clear. For almost everyone else (and even some Christians), it tends to be one big shopping fest gone too far, with contentment coming more in the gifts exchanged than in the company of those we’re doing it with. But whoever you are, there are still many unrivalled pleasures.
Why do I leave always Christmas shopping to the very last minute? That’s right, because I’m a man, and that’s what we do, and because there are only about 5 people that I absolutely must buy something for lest the entire relationship be put in jeopardy. I don’t enjoy it. It’s best described as a military operation for me: get in, fulfill all the objectives, and get out. Easy.
