Endure a safe, joyless Christmas? I’d rather cancel the whole thing!

DO you remember ringing in the New Year in the opening seconds of January 1? Do you recall waving a jubilant goodbye to 2019, an inoffensive year that did few of us any great harm, and joyously welcoming in 2020? Yeah, well, how stupid do you feel now? Personally, I’ve never really seen the sense of celebrating the passing of a year that you survived, while greeting with champagne and fireworks the one that might end up carved on your tombstone.

Left to my own devices, I’d go to bed at around 10pm every New Year’s Eve to rise again at a reasonable hour, next morning, when the whole thing was done and dusted. I’d skip all the melancholic nostalgia, all the false jollity, all the ‘Happy New Year’ texts, and all the ‘We’ve been eating and drinking all evening so what are we meant to do with a full bottle of champagne at midnight?’ angst.

Instead of Auld Lang Syne (what does that even mean, anyway?) my theme tune would be Wake Me Up When It’s All Over. Which is, I suggest, a perfectly reasonable way to approach Christmas 2020: Since, like every New Year’s Eve ever, it is not going to live up to expectations, but instead will leave us feeling disappointed, lonely, hungover and broke, perhaps this year we should all agree to give it a miss. For this one time, let us allow the Grinch to be our party planner.

What, after all, is the actual point of the Christmas festivities now being outlined for us by experts like WHO boss Dr Michael Ryan and Prof. Luke O’Neill? If we want to avoid another lockdown in January, more deaths, more hospitalisations, more harm to the economy, then we simply must follow their advice for a ‘safe Christmas’. And from what I can tell, a ‘safe Christmas’ is, as Angela’s Ashes author Frank McCourt said of a happy Irish childhood, hardly worth your while.

Yesterday, Dr Ryan, who’s been a trusted voice on the global stage throughout the pandemic, suggested we wear masks indoors on Christmas Day. Students coming home f or the holiday shouldn’t use the same bathroom as elderly relatives.

Instead of giving a hand with the dinner, guests should go for a walk until it’s ready, and anyone helping prepare the vegetables should maybe go to another room to peel the potatoes and carrots.

But getting everyone involved in the preparation, the peeling and the chopping and the setting the table, sipping a glass of bubbly and chatting over the kitchen counter, is part of the ceremony of the big day. Take that away and for most women – and Dr Ryan agrees that it is ‘Mum’ who’ll be doing the work – it’ll be just an extra stressful Sunday lunch.

Then rather than flopping in front of the telly, or getting out a daft board game after dinner, Dr Ryan suggests taking another walk.

If you throw in a Christmas swim, your day is going to feel more like a triathlon than a relaxing celebration.

And Dr Ryan’s suggestions are moderate compared to the advice offered earlier in the week by Trinity College i mmunologist Professor Luke O’Neill.

See if you recognise anything even remotely comparable to a traditional Christmas Dinner in the following guidelines. First of all, he says, bring your own plates, glasses, knives and forks to the dinner, and don’t touch anybody else’s. If possible, some experts say, bring your own food as well. Only remove the mask to eat and drink.

Don’t sit directly across from another guest – or, as Prof. O’Neill phrased the only piece of advice I am likely to follow to the letter, ‘stagger around

HAVE the table’. one person do all the food preparation, handling and serving. Don’t have a gravy boat, or salt and pepper shakers or any other condiment that might get passed around: i ndividual packets are what you need. Keep the room well ventilated, and ‘sit Grandpa by the window with a good breeze blowing through it’. Yes, in late December. Do remember to check him occasionally for frostbite/snowdrifts/pneumonia. Try not to spend much time in the company of other people, and avoid physical contact. Deck the halls with bottles of hand sanitiser. And I’m guessing that mistletoe is definitely off the agenda.

So, in a nutshell, make everyone eat their own food with their own eating irons in as little time as possible, in as much isolation as possible, in a freezing cold house, while eschewing all the usual pleasures of a family get-together.

It makes a Zoom Christmas dinner, with all guests online with ‘Ready-Meals for One’ in their own bedrooms, sound positively convivial.

You say ‘Safe Christmas’, I say ‘Bah humbug’ – just for this year, let’s call the whole thing off.