The (Yawn-athon) Christmas Countdown

Perhaps I haven't been placed in a tedious position to complain about Christmas because, in general, nothing sets my heart beating as wildly as taking a quick peep out of the window and watching champagne pink-coloured fireworks light up the otherwise peaceful November night than the festivities which create the fabulous, once-a-year atmosphere surrounding Christmas, a holiday which sends the carol-singing signal for an entertainingly dressed version of myself to emerge from the star-lit shadows and permit for the fun to officially begin.

So, in less confusing words and plain English (which sometimes appears duller than a lifeless attempt on passing an overly difficult level on a Lara Croft game), I wear a hair-raising, drink-choking smile as dazzling as a lit chandelier when December arrives on the doorstop or, as it is becoming more common in modern times, whilst my anticipation of the weekly episode of The X Factor builds higher than the wished-for shopping centre in the middle of town which is highly unlike to materialize.

The reason for this? In case you were born with the spellbinding ability to leave without watching a single, ever-so-exciting second of comfort TV in your lifetime, a spell must have been cast on your Sky (it has to be no other provider than Sky, hasn't it? If not, what are you thinking?) box if you have been left unable to view or catch a blurry glimpse of cheap-as-ready-meals of the polar bear-white, five foot-tall Christmas trees adorning festive, family-friendly adverts; the list, as always does every single year, never reaches an end, which puts an abrupt stop to your anxious, cold sweats of viewing that dreaded 30-second clip for what feels like the two hundredth time in an endless row.

Unlike the common view which many may take as the festive season approaches faster than a beloved, pocket-friendly pricing 'mistake' (to the customer's over-joyed pleasure!) at one of the anti-horse supermarkets, adverts do play a more important role and have joined the club of top promoters of The Day All of Us Are Supposed to Love. Surprisingly, a complaint hasn't slipped my tightly-sealed lips as of yet because my initial instinct to viewing a snow-surrounded advert featuring a lingerie-wearing Victoria's Secret Angel for one of the failing shopping retailers only amuses me, yet I'm sure that I'll eventually grow sick of the continuous sight of the so-called 'perfect' turkey and neatly arranged vegetables which the majority of fat-consuming, deep fried Mars bars-munching population will passionately avoid - who ever whispered in the red-as-Rudolph's-nose ears that everybody, from whichever social society in which they are categorized, are going to follow in the designer-clad footsteps and enjoy a pitch-perfect Christmas as commonly portrayed in happier-than-humanely-possible advertisements?

Right, you have hit the ouch-provoking nail on the head with this one: the unrealistic portrayal of flawlessly-dressed, all-Hollywood-smiles families featured in adverts for various companies and brands can become one of my largest seasonal pet-hates, simply because it would probably take an actual miracle (no thanks will be handed over the writers at Disney; why instill children with quixotic promises at a tender, easily-believing age?) for such a Christmas to occur. And even if it was possible, would I take the opportunity with both leopard print-mittens and say 'yes'?

The answer is easy: a blunt, rapidly-replied 'no'. Christmas - despite its once-in-a-lifetime horrors of the unreliable oven breaking down and an unwanted childhood cold threatening to get in the way of my ripping open a box of (leather-donning, purple lipstick-wearing) Bratz dolls with all-smiles delight - offers a whole new league of happiness for not only myself, but also my beloved family, all of whom sit around the table and pop open the traditional non-prawn-flavoured crackers, awaiting a fizzle of coloured paper to flow through the heated air; I relish every single moment dedicated to snuggling up on the leather sofa, re-watching the yearly rendition of Christmas Vacation with my equally amused brother, and cracking jokes in a quick succession like destroying irritatingly stiff almond shells because that is my way of having fun at Christmas, without any courtesy to overly commercialized adverts.

So, if one was to conduct a survey and ask particular questions, what would you define as your ideal and satisfying Christmas? Sometimes, the most simplest things are all which are needed to provide pleasure, enjoyment and a little sprinkling of festive magic; traditional staples, such as the beloved roasted turkey (the scent of which sends my hunger pangs into uncontrollable overdrive!) and a stack of neatly wrapped presents beneath a beautifully decorated Christmas tree, place as big a contented beam on one's face as another who pulls out all of the jaw-dropping stops to fulfill their wishes of a fulfilled white Christmas. Everyone, of which they already ought to be aware, is handed over the entitlement to form their own views, including their methods of making Christmas truly one of their own; some ideas, which may derive a few gasps or peculiar looks from somebody of a completely opposite personality and way of thinking, can feel just right in the comfort of their home and it pleases me completely that Christmas is not often determined by what is portrayed on our screens. Who ever thought that TVs were as grand and mighty as previously spoken of?

And the craziest thing? Whilst I await to complete my book-filled, film-packed (alongside heart-racing action!) list, I have yet to count down the next fifty days or so until the mistletoe-decorated wrapping paper is torn apart in a feverous excitement on the happiest, most cheerful day of the year. Without a single input from an advert, based on a planet millions of miles away from reality. My Christmas, without a doubt, is the way I want it to be, heavenly perfect and complete with endless bars of creamy chocolate...