Christmas

Pippa Middleton on wine, fishing and Kim Kardashian

A few days ago I went truffle hunting in Piedmont. It’s been a bumper year for white truffles in northern Italy — the best ever, according to some experts — thanks to climate change and an exceptionally wet summer. My guide was a brilliantly sharp-eyed Italian, Mario, whose dog Rex did the snuffling. Mario told me that dogs are better trufflers than pigs because pigs often eat the truffles before you can get your hands on them. We (or rather Rex) found two, and I have been devouring truffle since I returned; I’ve had it with scrambled eggs, mashed potato, pasta and even just straight onto toast. I didn’t think

Valérie Trierweiler’s notebook: Christmas as a singleton

Christmas will be a very warm occasion for me. I’ll be spending it with the Massonneaus — my family — as I do every year. It will be five brothers and sisters, gathered around our mother in our childhood home, a council house that, for us, felt like a palace when we first moved in. As always, our mother will try very hard for everything to be perfect, from the meal to the mountains of presents. With 12 grandchildren, who are all at an age to bring around a special someone or a ‘fiancée’, it usually becomes quite boisterous. However, this will also be my first Christmas for a very

The threat to Christmas carols – and how to save them

So, Christmas carols — they haven’t really gone away, but we don’t sing them as much as we used to. We aren’t, in general, much good at massed singing these days. Look around you at a church wedding when it’s time for a hymn and watch the congregation standing in mute embarrassment, the only sound coming from the organ and the choir (if there is one). That’s partly because hymns nowadays are known only to churchgoers, and they are in a minority; but it’s also inhibition. Singing is like swimming — a natural, healthy and intensely pleasurable physical activity — but you have to try it, preferably when very young,

Dear Mary: How do you stop someone wearing leather trousers to work?

Q. My husband employs an ageing rocker in his shop. She is highly efficient, and is an extremely nice woman. Our problem is that she will insist on wearing leather trousers to work and the noise is driving my husband mad. She is not the type to complain of harassment but how do you suggest he approach this delicate issue? — Name and address withheld A. In the early days of rock, it was thought that there was no better vehicle with which to display a good figure than leather trousers. The modern alternative — as worn by photographer Lady Brocket — are leather-look trousers, often with a waxed ingredient.

The price of seeing Santa (and what it gets you)

Dear Santas A £22.50 a head Christmas theme park in Warwickshire designed by Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen closed temporarily for improvements after visitors complained of mud, a skinny, swearing Father Christmas and elves who stood around smoking. What do you get when you take your children to see Santa? Prices for family of four: — £20 Santa Lane, Hyde Park. Rides, visit to Santa’s toy factory plus visit to Santa. (Visit to Santa is free; the charge is for the adjoining Magical Ice Kingdom.) — £44.40 Santa’s Magical Wonderland, Motherwell. Reindeer visit, indoor carousel, 1 hour soft play or skating, plus Santa visit. — £57.96 Twinlakes Winter Wonderland, Melton Mowbray. 25ft high

Actually, Bob, they do know it’s Christmas (we checked)

Yeah, Bob, they know The answer to the rhetorical question posed by the Band Aid single, ‘Do they know it’s Christmas?’, is broadly yes. Christmas Day is a public holiday everywhere in Africa except Mauritania, Western Sahara, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya and Somalia, although countries have widely differing customs associated with the event. — In Liberia, one of the Ebola-affected countries, it more resembles Halloween, where children go from door to door dressed as demons and begging for presents. — The two countries where Bob Geldof’s line might be appropriate are Ethiopia, the target of the first record in 1984, and Egypt. Both celebrate Christmas, according to the Julian calendar,

Yes, Bob Geldof, Africans know it’s Christmas. Do you know it’s time to pack Band Aid in?

In this week’s Spectator, out tomorrow, our leading article looks at the Band Aid 30 single and why it’s time for Bob Geldof to pack Band Aid in. Pickup a copy tomorrow or subscribe from just £1 here.  Anyone listening to the BBC this week could be forgiven for thinking that the musician Bob ­Geldof had just emerged from Africa, like a ­latter-day Dr Livingstone, the first westerner with news of a deadly new virus. He and his makeshift band of celebrities have adopted Ebola, their song blazing from the radio while Geldof himself has been in every studio exhorting people, with his usual stream of expletives, to buy it. Unless you have

Rest in peace: seven ways to stop snoring this Christmas

Did you know that snoring was bad for your heart? It’s thought to cause changes in the carotid artery and is linked to metabolic syndrome, both of which put you at risk of cardiovascular disease. Not only that, you’ll keep your partner awake, which won’t do your relationship a lot of good, either. So what can you do?  Consider these potential cures before opting for weird gadgets or surgery. 1) Sleep on your side. When you lie on your back, your tongue may partially obstruct your breathing, making tissue in your throat vibrate. That’s less likely to happen if you lie on your side or your stomach. Think it’ll be hard to break

All I want next Christmas is new Christmas songs 

Three months until spring. Four months until the start of the cricket season. And only nine months until the radio starts playing ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’ again. Or have you heard enough of Christmas songs by now? Many of us had heard enough of them by Christmas 1988. Every October they return. The first strains of Shakin’ Stevens emerging tentatively from high street shops. Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl, still bickering. Greg Lake, possibly alone now in believing in Father Christmas. Roy Wood’s enormous beard, wishing it could be Christmas every day. And for three months of every year his wish is granted. Millions of Britons suffer the consequences. (The only

How we lost the seasons

So, what are you doing with your Christmas decorations? Still up? Did the tree get put out on 2 January? Maybe you’re holding out until the Twelfth Day, on the basis that it’s bad luck to have the decorations up after that? Or are you going out on a limb and keeping your holly, bay and ivy up until 2 February, Candlemas? This last is in fact the correct answer for traditionalists; prior to Victorian times, people kept the Christmas season going, along with the greenery, right up until Candlemas. Mind you, given that Christmas trees only caught on with Prince Albert, pre-Victorians didn’t have the problem of pine needles

Christmas comes but once a week

In the 2 December 1995 edition, Digby Anderson bemoans a Britain in which people just cannot postpone any pleasure: not crisps, not carols. Christmas was and still is regarded as a time of feasting. Traditionally, however, the feasting started on 25 December and went on to 2 February, the feast of Candlemas. Now, the feasters just about last till after lunch on Boxing Day. When offered the most modest pre-dinner drinks on that evening, they haul up the white flag and holler, ‘Nuff.’ Christmas Day used to be the start of carol singing, Christmas carols that is; it was Advent carols that were sung before the 25th. Now the only

A Charm against Indigestion

Soothe your post-Christmas dinner indigestion with these readers’ charms, dug out from the spell-book that is the 24th December 1954 edition. The usual prize of £5 was offered for a charm against the pains of indigestion after Christmas dinner, in not more than eight lines of English verse: the charm to be pronounced while taking the prescribed dose of bismuth, bicarb., or other normal remedy. Nearly ninety competitors were prepared to reinforce their doses of magnesia, bismuth, bicarb. and alka-seltzer with a rhyming charm; but, although among the big and little guns there were (as Sir John Squire said in a Masefield parody) `some interesting ones,’ I was rather disappointed

WATCH: Christmas under fire – Britain, 25 December 1940

This has become a Christmas tradition for me: watching this extraordinary four-minute film about 25 December 1940. Its narrated by an American – at the behest of the British government, who wished to persuade Americans that our fight against Hitler was worth joining. The script is beautiful, almost poetic. “For the first time in history, no bells ring in England to celebrate the birth of the Saviour. No church bells are allowed to be rung in England. If they are, it will mean that the invader has come… At Christmas, England does what England has done for a thousand years – she worships the Prince of Peace.” Do watch the

Auberon Waugh’s Christmas Sermon

Writing in the 23 December 1966 edition of The Spectator, Auberon Waugh considers the role of Christianity, in all its forms, in an English Christmas. It’s not hard to see why most grown-ups detest Christmas nowadays. It is expensive and tawdry, a time for self-deception and false sentiment. It is a children’s feast, which is why we all pretend to be children and show gratitude for unwelcome presents and rot our fragile insides with poisonous green crystallised fruit. To crown all the meretricious jollity and make-believe, an enormous number of grown-up Englishmen go to church. This has become as much part of Christmas as the plum pudding, and I think

Christmas Eve special: Susan Hill reads The Boy on the Hillside

Every Christmas, The Spectator runs a short story but for the first time this year we’re having it read — and by the author. We’re delighted that Susan Hill, whose many books include The Woman In Black and The Mist in the Mirror, has agreed to read her new story, The Boy on the Hillside, which we are releasing as a special podcast. If you can wire up your computer or telephone to the sofa, it’s the perfect way to spend some time on Christmas Eve. listen to ‘Susan Hill reads ‘The Boy on the Hillside’’ on Audioboo

Melanie McDonagh

Mrs Hanrahan’s sauce: a delicious way to a happy Christmas

The prospects for peace on earth to men of goodwill – the original Christmas present — look a little slim right now, so by way of compensation, here’s a perfectly fabulous recipe for something to go with your Christmas pudding. It’s Mrs Hanrahan’s Sauce from Darina Allen’s A Simply Delicious Christmas. And frankly, it’s so good, the pudding becomes merely a vehicle for the sauce. Here, and wishing you a happy Christmas, it is: 225g/8 oz. Barbados sugar (soft, dark, moist) 70ml/2 1/2 fl oz. port 70 ml/2 1/2 fl oz. medium sherry 1.3 litres/2 1/4 pts cream, lightly whipped 110g/4 oz. butter 1 egg Melt the butter, stir in

The perils of dressing – and undressing – for parties

I recall a male friend telling me about an encounter he once had with Bindy Lambton, the eccentric estranged wife of the late Lord Lambton. They had been to the same party and it was snowing outside. ‘Would you mind coming home with me?’ she enquired. ‘I’m not propositioning you. I’m too old. It’s just that I need someone to undo the back of my dress’. On asking how she managed to undress when alone, Lambton answered breezily, ‘I go out on the street , hail a taxi and ask the driver to unzip me. But it’s too cold to do that tonight.’ Oh, the perils of dressing, and undressing

Russell Brand’s Christmas sermon

He is the corpulent, gluttonous apotheosis of our hegemonic hierarchical hypocrisy, peddling the shimmering mirage of materialistic cupidity to the dazzled masses while propping up the paradigm of the patriarchal power structure. The question is unavoidable. When will the people finally revolt against the tyranny of Santa Claus? We tell the poor to venerate him as some bibulous, avuncular altruist. Yet in reality this porcine Pol Pot, this crimson-clad Caligula, works just one day a year, while forcing a sweatshop of subjugated elves to toil under his whiskery yoke for the other 364. Inside each house on his snow-swaddled route he gorges on the sherry and mince pies proffered by the

Archive: Jeffrey Bernard’s Christmas Low Life

In this festive Low Life column from the 19 December 1981 edition of The Spectator, Jeffrey Bernard talks us through some Christmases past. I’ve tried ignoring Christmas but the bastard won’t go away. It’s never been a good time of year for me what with being ignored by Father Christmas — yes, I’m going to have a right old moan today — and three years ago being left completely alone in a freezing cottage. Season of goodwill? You must be joking. But at least I’ve had an office party this year in Kentish Town. Last night I poured a vodka into my electric typewriter and it nearly blew up. There

PMQs: a triumph for David Cameron, aided by Ed ‘turkey’ Balls

A Prime Minister can leave PMQs happy if he’s sent his troops off for Christmas in a good mood. Today David Cameron managed that, weaving in festive jokes through a list of statistics that shot Labour down. He was helped by the fact that Ed Miliband didn’t have a coherent line of attack at all, dancing from complaining that the employment figures still showed too many people were in part-time work to energy bills, to the Chancellor’s missed targets on the economy and on to childcare and the the 50p rate. There was a theme here: look at how the country is struggling to get enough work and afford the