The joy of a cancelled Christmas

Among the greatest bores right now are those friends who insist on telling you, usually as if it’s some kind of state secret, that Covid lockdown hasn’t changed their lives very much. They work from home, anyway, you see. They were practising social distancing before it was cool! They’re not terribly social at the best of times. How lovely not to have to endure another dinner seated next to some tedious stranger or, worse, a drunken office party at this time of year. And I have to confess that I am one of those bores. Yes, I miss people a bit, or at least being around lots of people. But an excuse to be without them for days on end? I have every intention of taking full advantage of it until the vaccine.

But the real joy is Covid’s effective cancellation of Christmas. We’re being given permission to cancel the most intense socialising of the year! For ornery types like me, what’s not to like? No forced smiles, no mandatory cheer, no terrible gifts, no crackers and bad TV, and no totalitarian imposition on my bloody mood, thank you. I have, to be honest, been doing it for years. I haven’t been home for the holidays in decades, and I’m not starting now. I send no cards; I give and accept no presents; I have no tree. My only regret at the effective abolition of this year’s plaguey Yuletide is that I can’t travel, as I usually do, to some sunny and warm clime, where there is no snow, no evergreens, no holly, no ivy and no Christmas bloody pudding. I may try a flight to Miami, if I can get a really good mask for the plane. I went to Casablanca last year; Santo Domingo the year before. You should try it some time.