Time for pain

Christmas with all its excesses becomes the last stop on the route to self-improvement. This seasonal splurge seems designed to usher in a period of self-disgust, exacerbated by too many puddings / presents / cheese / glasses of Irish cream. As the decorations come down, you long to emerge like a butterfly from the Christmas-chrysalis with a cleaner body and a purer purpose. January inevitably becomes the anointed month to slough off the extra pounds, change your ways and build a brighter, better future.

Emerging from the excesses of Christmas...

As human beings, it seems we need structure, if only to keep the messy amorality of life in check. With the start of a new year, resolutions provide a roadmap to a new, improved self. Often such resolutions require discipline and self-denial, but all of us know a little bit of pain is the price you pay for a higher pleasure. Structure equals control over laziness, small addictions (in my case, chocolate) and other character defects.

On reflection...

You know it's Christmas when...

Credit: William Lam

you lose track of time
your belly feels permanently distended

you eat Quality Street instead of supper

you empty the dishwasher twice a day

you run out of underwear 

you pick pine needles out of your jumper

there's no more space in the recycling bin

you start talking about a 'dry January'

you play board games with the kids

you find shreds of wrapping paper under the sofa

you have to unpack the fridge every time you want the milk
you tolerate a Lego super-structure in the middle of your kitchen

you eat re-fried sprouts until the end of December

Tidings of goodwill

It has been a bumpy ride, this run-up to Christmas. My children are excited to be on holiday and the house is filled with light and festive paraphernalia, but outside our cosy bubble there are so many tragic events blighting the world. Guilt is my primary emotion. How have I, and everyone I love, been granted such good fortune?

Val (centre) with asylum seekers and other volunteers

Even as I write, parents of a friend (Sam Jonkers of Henley's Jonkers Rare Books) have been visiting child refugees at a reception centre in Realville, southwest France. Val and Malcolm Johnstone retired to France some years ago and have been hosting older refugees at their home near Toulouse. The kids in the reception centre recently learnt that their asylum applications to join family in the UK had been turned down. It is a case of hopes dashed after months of suffering and hardship.