THAT WAS CHRISTMAS

All Christmas rom-coms should be banned.

Somewhere amongst the slushy men of Love Actually and the cheap scenes of giggling women with Mac red lips and white snow, we have kidded ourselves that you can find love in December. It doesn’t make sense; this month is the grossest we are all year round; bloated, patchy, emotional. In other words, if you haven’t locked someone in before December 1st, then you probably should resign to the fact that Mr Darcy is not going to tell you that he likes you ‘just the way you are.’

If like me, you’re single without children, then you most probably ended up at your parent’s house. This year, I took the train from Paddington to Penzance to spend Christmas with my Mum and her partner.

It was 8am on the 23rd of December, and I was resigned to my lonely fate, but then I had the perfect meet cute.

I got on at Paddington with a case that was too heavy. I couldn’t lift it onto the top rail and made sure everyone on the carriage was aware of this via whimpers and feeble attempts.

“Can I help?” a voice said from behind. Standing there wasn’t a dribbling old man but a dark, tall chap in a shirt and tie. I hadn’t seen a tie in a long time.

He lifted my extremely heavy case with ease, “Gosh, that’s a lot of presents”, he joked, and then we both sat in our reserved seats, which just so happened to be staring at each other. * He made eye contact – and I made eye contact. Everything was perfect, except I had the worst cold…ever. It was as if someone had poured cement into my ear holes and nostrils whilst I was asleep. I felt as sexy as an armadillo. So, as soon as I made eye contact, I fell into a nasally, crusty nose coma.

He got off at Bodmin Parkway and gave me one more glance through the window, and the train pulled away. Another element that these Christmas films don’t take into account – snot.

So, as my Mum met me from the platform of Penzance, my single Christmas began.

“I’ve got all your ingredients for your gingerbread men Mary!” Mum said, excited.

“Oh, maybe I’m too old for that now,” I muttered, still gutted about the human man that I couldn’t catch.

For anyone who hasn’t given their parents grandchildren yet, you’ll know that Christmas exists in a grey area, where your mum still hands you gifts labelled ‘from Father Christmas’ but quite happy to talk about Hugh Grant – sexually. The house is in a bizarre state where adults just circle from fridge to table, dizzier and dizzier to the sofa, getting as the Christmas decorations look on in disgust.

There is the technical side to Christmas- and what I mean by that is the advancement of technology that we as millennials have to now manage. …calmly.

Let’s start with the gifts –

Karma for all those times we made our parents rummage around the house for AAA batteries so that our Fubrys could come alive for days on end. Now, our parents open their iPads and Fitbits and cluelessly twirl the white box in their hands.

“Can you help me set it up?” they’ll ask.

And then the hunt for their passwords begins.

With technology comes a sudden abundance of entertainment. There used to be a limited selection of DVDs, but now we can watch everything anytime on various platforms. Finding a specific movie without knowing the title is like looking for a crumb in a hipster’s beard.

“Something ‘train’,” Mum said as she began to scroll through the Netflix catalogue, “… Christmas Train?Was it? Festive Train? ….” She muttered to herself as the images of every Christmas film went big and small, big and small, big and small. By the time ‘Notting Hill’ had come and gone three times on the Netflix carousel, I suggested that we research the actual title.

“Oh, it hasn’t got ‘train’ in the title after all,” she said, laughing. “It has a train in the film though. It’s called “This is Christmas.”

She pushed each letter into the search, S…..T….M…..A…..S and when nothing showed, she sat staring at the screen, bewildered.

“Are you sure it’s on Netflix?” I said.

No. It was on Sky Cinema – as mentioned- on the poster.

This is Christmas is a film about how an English man invites the whole carriage of his commuter train to a Christmas party. And, of course, there is obviously a hot girl (without a cold) on this carriage, and they fall in love.

I scoffed as the credits roll down the screen, and then went off to make my men out of gingerbread.