A truly British Christmas
2007-01-03

It's been a while since I've written because in case you are reading from a Muslim nation, Britain celebrates this little thing called Christmas. It's like Ramadan, except instead of fasting to remember the world’s poor, you eat absolutely everything within reach. Worrying about the poor is what the Salvation Army is for.

According to Wikipedia (which is much easier to quote than the Qu’ran):

During Ramadan, Muslims are also expected to put more effort into following the teachings of Islam as well as refraining from anger, envy, greed, lust, sarcastic retorts, backstabbing and gossip.

This is just like Christmas. Well, maybe not exactly like Christmas, I suppose the whole presents ritual is greedy, and maybe it taps into envy when someone unwraps an iPod and you unwrap tube socks. And perhaps there are some sarcastic retorts, but this is England, sarcasm is like breathing, you wouldn’t ask someone to stop BREATHING would you? And maybe there is some drink-fueled anger, lust, backstabbing and... ok, so it’s the anti-Ramadan. No one is sure why the baby Jesus wants us to act this way to celebrate his birthday, but who are we to argue? The lord works in mysterious ways.

Having said that, the Brits are big into giving gifts that are good for humanity as a whole. Last year my mother-in-law got a bucket for Christmas. She didn’t actually see the bucket, she got a card with a picture of a bucket on it and the assurance that a needy, bucketless tribe in Africa will get it. Apparently, a bucket is better than an iPod, my guess is that that is because the Africans haven’t heard of the Arctic Monkeys. If they had, I am sure they would gladly carry water in their shoes in order to jam out to “I bet you look good on the Dancefloor”. In this tradition, we received three tiny vases this year made by disabled kids in Jordan. I call them our “Mong vases” much to my wife’s chagrin. I have been toying with the idea of listing them on eBay as “100% Genuine Asian Mong Vases” and hope some sucker bids on them thinking it’s a typo.

I am just kidding by the way, the vases are lovely and I’m glad that I am doing something to help starving kids out. That is also why I shop at Primark and Niketown, Kids need jobs. (Yes I know I am going to hell, you’re coming too).

Another British tradition is the The Boxing Day Walk Through the Country, because only when it is cold, grey and muddy do the British like to exercise their Right to Roam. The Right to Roam is actually a law that prohibits land owners from keeping people out. Every Brit can walk wherever the hell they want, whenever they want (it’s true). Personally, I would prefer a beer, a couch and some bad Christmas TV than traipsing through a mucky farmer’s field in the cold, but that’s just me.

The Boxing Day Walk Through the Country, starts (very sensibly) at a small town pub. Nothing beats a nice big pint before an outdoor excursion, I always say. If it rains, you might just stay in there. I’m not a praying man, but I tell ya, I prayed for rain that day. Unfortunately, God hates me, so out we went. The Boxing Day Walk Through the Country is basically three to four hours where the men read an old map, trying to estimate how many steps it is until the next pub while the women "ooh" and "ahh" at historical places of interest like the spot where Virginia Woolf’s horse took a dump. It’s very inspiring.

Sure, they might be crazy traditions and ok, maybe we’re not as righteous as the Muslims, but in the end, it actually was a good time and I got some kick ass gifts in the process. And let’s be honest, even though you’re forced to eat horrid things like mince pies and fruit cake, it sure beats the hell out of fasting. Chalk one up for the big haysoos!