Christmas

Sunday

Melanie McDonagh

The Queen should force her unmarried relatives to corridor creep this Christmas

Thank God for the proprieties. This magazine's editor, Fraser Nelson, rattled a few score Anglicans today when he declared in his Radio 4 newspaper roundup at Broadcasting House (pleasingly paired with the FT’s Lionel Barber, BTW) that Meghan Markle and Prince Harry were to share a bedroom when they stay with the Queen at Sandringham over Christmas. This was on the back of a piece by Rachel Johnson, sister of, in the Mail on Sunday, deploring the fact that Meghan was to glad hand the crowds after the Christmas service, even though she’s only engaged. It was the bedroom-sharing arrangement bit that scandalised me.

Wednesday

Taki

High life | 13 December 2017

It’s that time of year again. Yippee! And get your wallets out. Scrooges are no longer tolerated at Christmas, although once upon a time people were so fed up with the annual Christmas shakedown that in 1419 London biggies ruled that Christmas solicitations were banned. Servants, apprentices, tradesmen and churchmen had all become professional supplicants, and were not best pleased by the ukase. But as someone once said, it is better to give than to receive, so there. We now give to doormen, barbers, hairdressers, garage attendants, lift operators, building supers, postmen and rich tiny children with hands outstretched. You name it, they expect it. And let us not forget professional beggars outside expensive stores. One of them once threw the dollar I had given him back in my face.

Melissa Kite

Real life | 13 December 2017

If only I knew whether I would have a kitchen, I could order a turkey. But despite having an almost finished kitchen space, half the kitchen units are still stacked up in the dining room and a weighty impasse has developed over the delivery options for the rest of it. Naturally, the shop can deliver the cooker, dishwasher and worktops right now, but there will only be one man in the van and another man will be needed at my house to help him carry the worktops. I can’t carry them, and I am not remotely insulted by the gender bias this implies. Stefano, meanwhile, is refusing to come back until all the units are on site. I told the kitchen manufacturer this and they said they could deliver the kitchen now but they will need another man.

Martin Gayford

Renaissance man

Lorenzo Lotto’s portraits — nervous, intense and enigmatic — are among the most memorable to be painted in 16th-century Italy, but his fellow Venetians didn’t see it that way. In a letter to Lotto of 1548, the poet and satirist Pietro Aretino wrote that he was ‘outclassed in the profession of painting’ by Titian. Now, though, with an exhibition of his portraits in store at the National Gallery next year, it looks as though Lotto’s time may finally have come. On a bright day this autumn my wife and I went on the trail of this most fascinating and idiosyncratic of Renaissance artists.

The Spectator

The Spectator’s Christmas appeal: donate internships, not money

Perhaps the most insightful piece of political analysis since the turn of the century came from the Queen in a speech to the United Nations a few years ago. She first addressed the UN in 1957 and returned in 2010 to reflect on what she had learned in the interim. She had seen prime ministers every week and dined with presidents from all over the world — but what struck her was how seldom their schemes translated into real progress. ‘Many sweeping advances have come about not because of governments, committee resolutions, or central directives,’ she pointed out, ‘but instead because millions of people around the world have wanted them.’ Politicians run the government, not the country.

Kate Chisholm

Foreign exchange

The season of Advent, for most children, means anticipation, gleeful waiting, the counting down of days. But after a certain age the build-up to Christmas changes its nature, becomes more like anxious preparation. It can, though, be thought of as a time of reflection. Radio 3’s Christmas Around Europe has for years nourished that feeling by taking us on a leisurely, day-long musical tour around the continent, usually on the last Sunday before Christmas. It’s a chance to step back from the frenetic fuss and wander in the mind, as the music plays, to other times and distant places, to take oneself beyond the present, or rather into another kind of present.

Carola Binney

Christmas in China

If you think capitalism has blinged up Christmas, you should see what the Communists are doing to it. At this time of year, Chinese cities are dressed up like one big Oxford Street, but with lights that put London’s in the shade. Christmas Eve has become the biggest shopping day of the year. At the school where I taught last year, every classroom had at least three Christmas trees: one outside the door, one inside the door and one at the back. Tinsel ran up staircases, fake snow adorned all the windows. The Chinese have even developed their own Christmas traditions: revellers give each other elaborately packaged apples, and Father Christmas is always pictured playing the saxophone.

Henry Marsh

Surgeon’s Notebook

Memory, neuroscientists tell us, is fallible. It is a dynamic process whereby each time we remember something, it will be changed. Our first memories are probably even less reliable, but I think mine is of Christmas 1953, when I was three. My mother was German and we celebrated Christmas in the German way. An English Christmas is a dull affair in comparison, with presents handed out by underslept parents on a cold and drab Christmas morning, around a tree decorated with electric lights. German Christmas would start on the first Advent Sunday with my mother making a wreath of fir branches and red ribbons, with four red candles. On each Saturday night before the four Advent Sundays we would clean our shoes and leave them outside the front door.

Selina Mills

Bah, humbug!, Tiny Tim

Here we go again. Partridges in pear trees. Lovely big Christmas turkey. The Queen’s speech. And then, at some point during the Yuletide season, some version or other of Dickens’s ghost story A Christmas Carol. This year’s glut of Scrooge stories includes the Old Vic’s major production starring Rhys Ifans (reviewed by Lloyd Evans in last week’s Spectator) and Michael Rosen’s retelling of the tale, Bah! Humbug! There is a new film, The Man Who Invented Christmas, featuring Christopher Plummer as Scrooge and Dan Stevens, he of Downton Abbey fame, as Mr Dickens himself. It plots the months running up to the publication of A Christmas Carol in Yuletide 1843.

Wednesday

Felicity Hannah

Not to be a Scrooge – but I don’t want to spend £75 on an advent calendar

It's not even December, and already it’s almost impossible to read a personal finance article that doesn’t include the words ‘in the run up to Christmas’. My social media feeds are full of photos of friends’ decorated firs and the caption ‘We’ve treed!’ The other thing that is guaranteed to happen around this time of year is that, possibly for the first time since you were a child, you’ve started to wonder if you need an advent calendar. Not one with tiny chocolate robins and angels in it, but a luxury calendar, filled with toys or booze or make-up, depending on your age and preferences. What started as a bit of a jokey trend has fast become a new – and expensive – tradition.

Friday

Steerpike

Labour’s Christmas attack

Christmas is meant to be the season of goodwill. Alas, no-one at Labour HQ appears to have got the memo. The Labour party have released their Christmas cards – with a distinct Conservative vibe this year. Corbyn's party has used the festive opportunity to make fun of Theresa May's conference speech where the letters fell from the board behind her – meaning the slogan of 'building a country that works for everyone' soon became confused. Yours for a mere £8...

Thursday

Mary Killen

Dear Mary | 16 November 2017

Q. My husband, who used to be away on business most of the time, now works from home and has become bossy and dictatorial. He spends a good deal of his day advising me how the house could be better run. This is bringing tensions into our previously harmonious relationship. How can I put a stop to his interference in a delicate way without him feeling that I’ve ceased to respect his opinions? PS: the house already runs like clockwork. — Name and address withheld A. Why not act daft and agree with your husband that, since you seem to be less efficient than him, he should direct the running of the house himself and you will just obey his orders.

Thursday

Helen R Brown

A cold coming to Cornwall

In 1939, Barbara Hepworth gathered her children and her chisels and fled Hampstead for Cornwall. She expected war to challenge her passion for abstract form. But her commitment deepened. The solid ovoids she sculpted carried the weight of grief and the hope of eggs. To Hepworth, they became ‘forms to lie down in, or forms to climb through’. They were a means of retaining freedom whilst carrying out what was demanded of me as a human being… a completely logical way of expressing the intrinsic ‘will to live’ as opposed to the extrinsic disaster of the world war.

Thursday

Jeremy Clarke

Low life | 5 January 2017

On the Monday before Christmas, the black dog came around again and I couldn’t get out of bed. I lay all day staring at the wall. Depression has little to do with sadness, I think. It’s blankness. The same thing happened to me about 15 years ago. I was like a prize gonk for the four or five weeks it took for the Prozac to work, which it did, and since then I’ve managed to foster and sustain all the illusions I need to keep me buoyant. I couldn’t get out of bed on the Tuesday either. I was adrift in outer space. But I knew I must pick up the phone and make an appointment to see someone with a prescribing pad. It’s easier said than done, though, getting an appointment to see a doctor during the festive period.

Thursday

Mary Killen

Dear Mary | 29 December 2016

Q. Our first Christmas card arrived on 2 December and it was a lovely thing — a Burne-Jones angel musician, finely printed, paper inner lining and sent first-class in a franked envelope with an immaculate printed label.Unfortunately, the signature was just a large and meaningless felt-tip flourish; no address, no other clue except ‘Season’s Greetings’, which may hint at someone with an international list. While we still maintain our fading Christmas card habit, we would not want to give unwitting offence by not reciprocating. What do you advise, Mary? — P.W., address withheld A. Your letter has only just reached my hands.

The Spectator

Portrait of the Week – 29 December 2016

Home The Queen was said by the BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg to have asked, at a private lunch before June’s referendum, about the European Union: ‘I don’t see why we can’t just get out. What’s the problem?’ Mervyn King, who was Governor of the Bank of England until 2013, said that Britain needed to be more ‘self-confident’ about its chances outside of the economically ‘pretty unsuccessful’ EU. Theresa May, the Prime Minister, issued a Christmas message: ‘As we leave the European Union we must seize an historic opportunity to forge a bold new role for ourselves in the world.’ George Michael, the singer, died aged 53. Rick Parfitt, who sang and played with Status Quo, died aged 68.

Joan Collins

Diary – 29 December 2016

Every year, from mid-November to mid-January, dozens of DVDs drop through my letterbox. These are most of the movie releases of the past year. It is with great anticipation that I tear open the yellow padded envelopes from Sony or Disney or The Weinstein Company, and even from companies I’ve never heard of; but invariably it’s with disappointment that I scan the hundreds of titles unknown to me, and I do read Screen Daily and the Hollywood Reporter. I’m amazed that the production companies manage to finance some of these films. I know from whence I speak. However, snuggled up on the sofa in the days before Christmas I dutifully watch all the films in preparation to vote in the Bafta and Academy Awards. It’s like training for a marathon.

Emma Simon

Billions are wasted each year on unwanted xmas presents, but you can do something useful with that ugly jumper

Unwanted Christmas gifts have always been part and — excuse the pun — parcel of the festive season, whether it’s an unfeasible number of French hens, or an over-pungent celebrity-endorsed Myrrh bath oil. We all have our favourite stories of mis-judged pressies: from the husband who bought his wife a gravy separator for Christmas (we are still married), to Auntie Mabel’s attempts to buy fashion items for a 14-year-old. Nationwide, the value of these duff gifts is now estimated to be some £2.6 billion, according to a recent survey by Triodos Bank. Among the most unpopular gifts are Christmas jumpers, onesies, celebrity autobiographies, novelty socks and kitchenware. That's what charity shops say, who often find they have a surplus of such items come January.

Kate Chisholm

Chance would be a fine thing | 29 December 2016

It’s been a turbulent year, and not just in the outside world. Inside radio, digital is changing not just when and how we listen but content, too. Classic FM overturned its daily schedule in the run-up to Christmas to stage an all-Mozart day with nothing but the virtuoso’s works for 24 hours. It was a bold step by the commercial station, reliant on advertisers (and therefore listener figures) for its survival. How many non-Mozart-enthusiasts would be turned off by such a monothon?

Saturday

Mark Forsyth

Who invented Santa Claus?

Santa Claus ate Father Christmas. It happened quite suddenly. Well, it took about a decade, but that’s suddenly in cultural terms. Over the course of the 1870s the venerable British figure of Father Christmas was consumed by an American interloper. Father Christmas (first recorded in the 14th century) was the English personification of Christmas. Just as Jack Frost is a personification of the cold and the Easter Bunny is a rabbitification of Easter, so Father Christmas stood for Christmas. He was an old man (because Christmas was ancient) and he was plump (because Christmas was a feast). But Father Christmas did not give presents, did not come down the chimney, had nothing to do with stockings or reindeer and did not live at the North Pole.