It's happened AGAIN...

Talk about hope triumphing over experience: another bunch of eager parents have paid £7 a pop for the greater seasonal enjoyment of themselves and their little ‘uns. And yet another clutch of puzzled, disappointed children find themselves in a sea of mud and chaos with about as much Christmas cheer as a derelict seaside town. This time, the culprit is the Bakewell Winter (so-called) Wonderland in Derbyshire. Apparently, even Santa didn’t show up and among the reasons trotted out by the purveyors for the lack of festive brio was that “the reindeers had gone to bed”. Hmmmm… Once more, I take pains to explain that Christmas – as we know it – is but a consumerist construct, one that cannot be created in the wilderness. And once again, I explain that the best place to find Christmas is – on the high street. It’s an unfair transaction but a valid one that the store-owners are best qualified to construct this annual festival of consumption. They have the venues, the props and the personnel, the years upon years of experience of selling luxury goods, of creating atmosphere with artificial greenery, glittering baubles and piped carols a-singing, electronic bells a-ringing, cash tills a-bleeping, many lords a-leaping, five thousand gold rings in the jewellery department, French perfumes in cosmetics & toiletries, and roast partridge and pear tart on offer in the store restaurant. In the grotto, the on-duty elves point in the direction of the mechanical, nodding reindeer and the talent-agency Santa, who patiently asks every transfixed little ‘un what he or she wants for Christmas – aaaaaaaah, what’s not to love? Perhaps it’s all too easy for certain people, just hopping on a bus and going to a place that you can visit any day of the week all year round – and all free of charge? But the seasonal, magical transformation of these colloquial emporia never ceases to fill me with wonder; I’ll be celebrating Christmas in the high street this year – how about you?