Yo Ho Ho etc.

I was going to write a much longer piece about Christmas. The theme would be The Irrational Yet Immutable Rituals And How They Make Christmas A Vibrant And Thoroughly Modern Festival. The title needed some work. And now I realise that I can't be bothered to finish any of it. There's presents to wrap, bells to ring etc. So instead, here's three aspects which to me epitomise the true spirit of the holiday.

1. Mashed Potatoes Nobody ever wants to eat the things. We've got turkey, sausages and stuffing on our plate (or in my case, a rather wonderful nutloaf). We've got sprouts and roast potatoes too, we've got figgy pudding to come and we've been gorging on chocolates all day. To a very full stomach, a white and largely tasteless lump doesn't really have much appeal. We take a tiny spoonful each and the vast majority gets thrown away. But if you leave out the mashed potatoes, everyone would complain. They are part of The Meal, they must be there. And I would complain as loud as anybody.

2. Santa Claus. Santa Claus is a god, let's make no mistake about that. He flies across the sky, he has supernatural powers, he enters our homes, he even has his own mantras. Most importantly, he makes moral judgements and rewards or punishes accordingly. Yet, though Bart Simpson said Christmas "celebrates the birth of Santa," he was generated by the festival not vice versa. He only became a central component after it was relatively mature. And after his one night of power he sinks back into the Arctic ice for another year. His jurisdiction is also limited to the very young. We are expected to believe in him absolutely for our first few years and then reject him as an essential part of maturing. And his sanctions only take the form of presents or the lack thereof; Black Peter and his club were given the boot a long time ago. Compartmentalised, materialistic, even partly designed by a fizzy drink corporation – if you ever wondered what sort of deity modern society would create, look no further than Santa Claus.

3. The Media Build-Up Some rituals shift over the years, others stay the same. A while ago the favourite was Santas Behaving Badly. Jolly men in red suits would have a few bevvies and start fights, or urinate in the street, or enter a stranger's house to take away rather more than a glass of sherry and a mince pie. Nowadays we hear a lot about councils in Tamworth or St Albans refusing to put up Christmas lights lest it offends the three Buddhist families in their ward. Nobody really cares, even the people in the affected towns. But they're always seized on by national papers on permanent PC Watch as symbols of our national decline. Other stories have an eternal appeal. Babies abandoned; old people abandoned; holidaymakers stranded in airports. "It shouldn't happen over Christmas" the writers wail, apparently believing that natural laws decree everyone should be happy and loved for one particular day a year. These tales always play well, tapping into the Victorian sentimentality which is still vital in shaping the festival. But they forget that the most striking image of Christmas is still one of absolute poverty: a stranded mother giving birth in a stable.