We need your help now
Support from readers like you keeps The Journal open.
You are visiting us because we have something you value. Independent, unbiased news that tells the truth. Advertising revenue goes some way to support our mission, but this year it has not been enough.
If you've seen value in our reporting, please contribute what you can, so we can continue to produce accurate and meaningful journalism. For everyone who needs it.
Sign in. It’s quick, free and it’s up to you.
An account is an optional way to support the work we do. Find out more.
By continuing, you are indicating that you accept our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.
I LOVE CHRISTMAS. I really do. It’s just that sometimes, I find the essence of Christmas, that lovely seasonal, Coca Cola, smell of fir tree, ‘We’re Walking in the Air’, chestnuts roasting on an open fire type feeling gets buried beneath the overwhelming demands of traditions, and presents, and general ‘Are we having fun yet!!!’ pressures.
Take the lighting of the Christmas Tree in our local park this weekend. I saw the posters and thought, ‘Oh, how lovely! Let’s bring her along to mark the start of Christmas. See her little face light up. Create a festive ‘memory’. Still and all as I’ve had multiple failed experiences of this kind already (of the rose tinted, kiddy variety, which invariable go pear-shaped) I still pony up each and every time, and expect that this time will be different. Which, of course, it wasn’t.
Not-so-merry-Christmas
First, it rained. Not the torrential, ‘OK, we’ll leave it and stay home variety’. No, the quintessentially Irish, ‘I look like I’m not really raining out, but spend ten minutes in me and you’ll end up damp to the core’ variety.
Then, turns out, ten thousand other parents felt a similar level of pressure to ‘create a memory’ and had also ventured out for said occasion. Even though it was five o’clock and already edging towards the witching hour, with no dinners generally having been had.
Then she got scared because she didn’t much like the look of the fat bloke in the red and white outfit wandering around pretending to be everybody’s mate. Understandably took umbrage at some random punter she’d never seen before in her life invading her personal space.
Then she needed a wee. As did 15 other children. Who were better at holding it then herself.
She eventually decided she didn’t like the crowds, nor the rain, nor Santa, and that she wanted to go home. But not before the bloody lights got turned on. ‘Mummy, get the lights turned on… GET the lights turned ON MUMMY!’. Oh, sweet Jesus.
As there was no sign of any movement whatsoever on that front, no so much as even a candle to be seen, I made the controversial decision to abort the mission. Made an educated guess that should we have to wait longer than another five minutes for the famous lights, or should one of Santa’s sidekicks randomly decide to introduce himself, we were going to end up with the mother of all tantrums, in a crowd, from which it would be difficult if not impossible to escape.
So I made a break for it. Put the foot down and headed for home.
To be fair, I had the element of surprise on my side, so we were practically out of the place before she twigged what was going on. But there followed a 20 minute walk home with her wriggling violently around our long suffering buggy wailing ‘But I want to see the lights on, MUMMY!’ at the top of her voice. To the families we met coming the other direction, I must have looked like Cruella Deville.
‘Tis the season to be jolly?’ My backside…
Lord of the Flies type mentality amongst shoppers
We’d been in town earlier that day as Mummy tried to figure out what the hell she was going to wear to various Christmas get togethers, and fought her way down Grafton Street in search of something vaguely plausible yet cheap. Also had vague intentions of trying to knock some of the Christmas shopping off our list at 20% off. Hadn’t quite twigged the significance of ‘Black Friday’ weekend. That it spells a Lord of the Flies type mentality amongst shoppers. Pande-bloody-monium.
Good will to all men? You’ve got to be joking. There were women in the shops last weekend who I’d say were inches away from requesting that I be removed from the shop floor because I dared to bring the Maclaren. By the end of the afternoon I had given up on all good manners and decorum and instead used the buggy as fairly effective battering ram. Got a great sense of satisfaction from trading my ‘Excuse me!… So sorry!… If I could just squeeze passed there please?’, for just ploughing straight into their Louboutins.
The streets and shops may have been festooned with fairy lights and Santa’s and ‘compliments of the season’. But let there be no doubt, beneath all the Christmas ‘cheer’, there were some very serious shoppers on the prowl with agendas and purpose and the singular determination of Lara Croft. Yes, the business of Christmas is not one to be taken lightly. Dressing for it. Gifting for it. Looking one’s best for it. Not a task for the faint-hearted. As I watched immaculately clad women bustle along laden down with bags and labels and attitude, I felt inadequate. And in the way. And not in the least bit festive.
We passed a shop window and she spotted the most enormous princess castle known to man. I doubt we’d get mortgage approval for this pink plastic number but she became immediately obsessed. The previous (jammy) Santa request of bobbins and hair clips instantly went out the window and were promptly replaced by Princess Precocious’ Overprized Palace. So of course we went in for a gawk.
Some random shop assistance shoved a chocolate into madam’s grubby paw before I had a chance to stop her. Which only added to the sugar coursing through her veins from the marshmallow laden hot chocolate I’d caved and bought her earlier. ‘Tis the season for all and sundry to shovel sugar laden treats in the direction of the kids’ apparently. Because ‘It is Christmas after all!’. Like I hadn’t noticed. Which is all well and good for them. They get the delighted smiles and shrieks of joy and over-the-top toddler gratitude. I get the ‘come down’ tantrum half an hour later.
The buses were mobbed. The drivers were irritable. The passengers were exhausted, and spun out, and squeezed between oversized shopping bags (why, oh why, do they make them SO big?). Most still on edge after the Black Friday trolley dash. Meanwhile her nibs was still lamenting the loss of ‘her’ princess palace, and arguing defiantly that yes, we could have balanced it atop the buggy.
What you really need at Christmas…
We made it home eventually. Post disastrous shopping attempt and aborted Christmas tree lighting. Post ‘Santa-Gate’ and sugar inflated tantrum. Took a few deep breaths and tried to undo the damage of the previous few hours. Had a strong cup of tea and tried to sober up her sugar buzz with some warm milk. Curled up on the couch and read her one of her Christmas story books. Debated, at length, the number, size and variety of reindeer required to circumnavigate the globe overnight, and other important related matters.
Figured out that actually, all you really need for Christmas, is the comfort of your own home and a date with Bing Crosby. Resolved that I wouldn’t dare brave town again until at least New Year. No matter what marketing ploys were dangled underneath my nose. No matter what bloody trees were being lit, nor stable animals were being wheeled out. No matter what fairs or festivals or freebies were being pedalled. We’re staying put. And having a low maintenance Christmas free of all that ‘Are we having fun yet!!!’ pressure.
That was of course until I remembered that we’ve still to go and see Santa…
Claire Micks is an occasional writer. Read her columns for TheJournal.ie here.
To embed this post, copy the code below on your site
Apart from illegal immigrants, who have been promised their own front door key and some landlords, the majority of people in the country have been ignored, used, and let down by our landlord politicians.
Hardly surprising that there is growing opposition to open door immigration and welfare for
all-comers when the government make no effort to look after our own.
It is really impossible now, after Roderick O’Gorman’s decision to translate his plans into multiple languages including the Georgian language, offering to provide asylum seekers with their “own-door” accommodation and “wrap-around supports, healthcare and education” on social media without having the infrastructure or finance to support it.
The reality is we are worse off than the last general election.
You reap what u sow after the crash construction workers and tradesmen were treated with contemt by the government lot emergrated some gave it up young lads now have no interest in construction as for bringing in foreign workers forget it no were for them or there families to live big mess
And won’t change by the following election either, regardless of who wins it!!
As someone else here mentioned, not enough builders and no indication of that changing. The last time we went on a building frenzy we imported the labour, they aren’t available anymore as every other developed country has a building shortage too.
Any politician who says they are going to solve the housing crisis is telling lies,
Regardless of what party or political persuasion.
It’s going to get worse.
The situation will never improve with the rotating clown show that is going on. We’re the fools for putting them on the ballots at all.
Speculators including politicians buying up council land and then sitting on the property until it’s value increases by millions
“What we need is a vast scaling up of ambition”. Don’t make me laugh! There needs to be ambition there in the first place, something that is nonexistent in this current government.
A 100 years of lazy governments cannot be undone in 4 years
The ‘government’ (doesn’t matter who) has no interest in solving this.
@TG McMahon: we will never know when them bunch are repeatedly left in charge again and again and again
The uncomfortable truth that has to be accepted by everyone – but the general public particularly – is that our infatuation with home ownership is directly driving the housing shortage as much as any other factor. The development companies say it outright, there isn’t enough profit in it for them to build.
The fact we have people tripping over themselves to buy houses at 3, 4, 500k is being preyed on.. all stakeholders want their 20, 40k out of each house. It’s a rat race. Like healthcare is going, if you don’t jump to private you’ll be left behind.
We need to jump off this Hollywood train where a coffee is 12 euro and a haircut 60 because everyone is ‘entitled’ to be a business person and buying your own house is a status badge as much as anything else. ‘We’ have created and are maintaining the rod for our own backs, and the gameplayers are using it to full capacity with the backing of FFG. There is no possible happy ending on this track, we need to stop thinking just me, me, me and look at what we have collectively created. We are not Kardashian.
Housing and property is exactly why we have an open door policy on illegal immigration.
It is so companies like Cuckoo, Blackrock and other huge investment companies can maintain their asset prices ahead of any potential global financial crash. These companies are already taking a financial hit on all their commercial properties and the fear is that if there is another crash, all those family homes they have been buying out to bulk up their portfolios will also take a hit. It is no surprise that the government is now talking about converting office blocks into residential areas – this ensures that these companies boost the value of their commercial properties. I wonder how much of taxpayer’s money will be handed over in these refurbishments, most of which cost more to convert than if they were simply to build a new block of apartments? How much more of our public funds will be transferred to these private “shadow banks” as they are often referred to and more to the point, who will these apartments be for.
If there is another crash, these companies can no longer rely on quantitive easing, i.e. the central banks flooding the market with extra cash to keep their asset prices up, so how do you keep commercial and residential prices up in a failing economy? Oh, I know convert commercial to residential and simultaneously flood the country with a mass of people from all over the globe thus flooding the market with extra demand for housing. High demand plus low supply equals higher prices, che-ching!
On top of that, these companies won’t just secure high prices for their assets, but undoubtedly, in the interests of housing migrants, apartments and houses will be handed over to “asylum seekers” in the interest of “offering refuge”, whilst public money is used to subsidise or pay entirely for their rental costs, handing over further public funds to the same private interests in a double whammy of theft from the people – che-ching-che-ching!
But the government will look a whole lot different after it
have your say