As the dreadful boxing announcer David Diamante says, “The time has come.” That time of year when I get up at 5.00 am and do The Big Christmas Shop. Who doesn’t just love the real spirit of Christmas, that most spiritual part of the year when we struggle to get a parking space to queue outside of the supermarket long before it opens and then fight to get the best turkey, the best vegetables and numerous items we don’t really need? Of course, there’s the heart-attack inducing stress that comes with it but just remember: it’s what God himself would have wanted. Let’s get ready to rumble! Or, alternatively, fuck that for a game of soldiers.
I learned long ago that there’s absolutely no point in engaging one’s self in the supermarket scrum of the festive season when – and I know this maybe news to many of you – the supermarket is only closed for one day. And unless you are in the habit of consuming food that goes out of date pretty well the second you buy it, why on earth do you – and I hope it’s not actually you, dear reader – do it?
My feeling is that you, if it is you, rather enjoy the last minute shop and everything that goes with it. The sheer relief of finding things that are on the list comes with an enormous adrenalin hit and an inward shout of “YES!” Otherwise, why would you do it? Rather than lying in a lovely, snuggly warm bed in the near permanent winter darkness, what could be more enjoyable than waiting outside M&S to collect a massive dead bird?
No. For me, the modern world so despised by Telegraph and Mail readers has saved the day. No more trudging round rammed supermarkets when they can literally bring everything to my door and no more hideous trips to the shopping malls because of God’s greatest gift of all – Amazon.
Instead of shopping, I can put my time to good use. I can watch the football on telly, read one of my increasing mountain of books, listen to some music that isn’t Jona Fucking Lewie and, soon, the most festive pleasure, Christmas Eve eve train-spotting. Anything that isn’t shopping. Now where’s my anorak?
