Tuesday December 25th 2001

Here is my Christmas Message.

I’m writing this on Christmas Day, alone in my room in Highgate, where I have decided to spend the season to be cheerless. I’m also consumed with flu and am feeling even more rotten than usual.

Despite my illness, I forced myself to leave the house this afternoon in order to feed the ducks in Waterlow Park, who remain my only true friends.

The park was full of adults with children in tow. A father and daughter try out what are presumably brand new Father-and-Daughter Rollerblades together.

As I break up and scatter bits of bread to the hungry birds in the pond, one family behind me are continuing their Christmas Dinner Table discussion loudly behind me while their children join me in playing Santa to waterfowl. It’s a September 11th debate, predictably. The gist of his rant was “haven’t we gone on about it enough? More people die in the Third World every year due to US foreign policy…”. That sort of thing. Presumably the topic was sparked off by the content of today’s Queen’s Speech.

I didn’t hear much in the way of retorts from his wife behind me, or even any noises of agreement. It was one of those conversations that aren’t really conversations. Where one person performs and the other is the audience under duress. It’s the way I imagine many marriages and relationships end up going. It’s the sort of thing that makes me glad that I live alone, in a lifelong marriage to myself. I say a quiet prayer and give thanks that although the Lord has had it in for me on many occasions throughout my lifetime, He has not been so unkind as to ever inflict upon me a Proper Relationship. That would really trump my own personal Book of Job. A few ill-advised flings, tentative trysts of curiosity, doomed attempts at True Love, and entirely alcoholic assignations aside, I have been extremely lucky. My principal aim for now is keep up that status. And also to stay slim, otherwise I fear I shall resemble Boris Johnson.

I spent Christmas Eve shopping in Central London. For myself, naturally. I was after a copy of Gavin Bryer’s “Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet” on CD, plus Stephen Malkmus’ single, “Jo Jo’s Jacket”, sample lyric “Stay inside on Christmas Day / And make believe you are my candy cane”. Not the most Christmassy of songs, but the CD single does come with my favourite pop video of recent times. It’s got kittens in it. Playing drum solos.

Navigating my way through the hordes on Oxford Street, one young couple holding hands are coming the other way, and there’s not enough room on the pavement for me to side-step them. They have to disengage their hands in order to get past me, and for me to get past them. I’m literally breaking couples up now. It’s my life’s work! Oh, the poetry of it all…

I spend the afternoon of Christmas Eve in a cinema, watching Ghost World, starring two teenage girls who don’t have mobile phones. Steve Buscemi’s character confesses at one point that he feels he doesn’t have anything in common with 99% of Humanity.

I heartily recommend this film to anyone who thinks “is it just me…?” The answer is no, you’re not the only one. You’re just heavily outnumbered by those who think they know better.

Ignore them. Live alone. Live deliberately. Merry Christma