As I believe I mentioned before, today I’m allowing someone else to say a few words on my behalf. I’d like to wish a warm welcome to ThePickards for Stephen Lang, and his Christmas message.

If you’d like to see the others, Dan Champion is guesting on Stephen’s site, I’m guesting on Mike Cherim’s site, and Mike is guesting on Dan’s site.

I don’t want to give Stephen too much introduction (why don’t you just look at his blog instead?), so without further ado, let’s hear what he has to say:

Stephen Lang’s Christmas Message

Welcome to the alternative Christmas message. Alternative to the Queen’s annual Christmas message, and alternative in the sense that you’re not required to stand to attention or play the national anthem loudly while you’re reading it. If you do, your family are likely to charge out of the room and knock you sideways, which is something I remember happening to Captain Mainwaring in Dad’s Army.

Anyway, the idea of the Christmas Blog Swap was to submit an alternative Christmas message for posting on Christmas Day on someone else’s — yes an alternative — website. I picked The Pickards from the hat of possibilities. Also, in case you’re wondering, the drawing you see isn’t a self portrait, it’s my sketch of Alastair Sim as Scrooge — and although you might detect a little “bah humbug!” from my message, stick with it and you’ll realise that I’m not really that much of a misery.

Christmas confession #1: I’ve never actually watched the Queen’s annual Christmas message. My mother was always staunchly anti-royal and would collapse on the floor in a heap when Her Majesty came on (whether this was the effect of royalty or eggnog I don’t know). So this has rubbed off on me and I can never bring myself to watch it either. I tend to sneak off to load the dishwasher when everyone else in my house is marvelling over Elizabeth II — the only time of year I willingly load the dishwasher.

(Scrooge points: 2)

All of the festive action takes place in our front room and, as you can see, I am already finding excuses to leave it. As the afternoon rolls on, my family will insist on playing board games. Monopoly, Balderdash, many more games with ridiculous names that I always refuse to play and so here it comes:

Christmas confession #2: I hate playing games. They really have to put a rope around me and drag me back into the room to play. And sometimes they do. And if they choose Monopoly, I always get the boot. Unless your family are planning on staying until Easter, why would you foolishly want to start on a game of Monopoly? Why take part in a game that never ends?

(Scrooge points: 12)

Christmas confession #3: (they’re coming thick and fast now) I usually go off to have a nap at some point. It might be my age creeping up on me, although there’ll be older people than me in the house who have the constitution to sit there arguing and drinking all day. But not me. I’ll have a sleep, wake up slightly refreshed, reposition my paper hat to its expected jaunty angle and rejoin the festivities round about five o’clock. Which are now shaped something like this:

• A full room with nowhere for me to sit. I’ll usually just stand up, or squat, until somebody takes pity on me and squeezes up to make some space. Hopefully sometime before midnight.
• The remains of an abandoned board game on one half of the coffee table. The other half is taken up by a neat stack of Christmas presents people aren’t particularly happy with, usually a couple of Alexander McCall Smith novels and a sudoku book. A sort of you’ve given me this? silent protest.
• A film — always Jumanji — on the television. Although it’s on very loudly my family still choose to have the subtitles on, usually because you can never hear the dialogue above their bickering.
• As just mentioned, bickering, ranging from mild accusations to full blown screaming. Oh yes, it’s not been unknown for me to walk in and find people crying.
• A family member having completely withdrawn into their mobile phone and furiously texting.
• A family member asking vaguely “when’s Doctor Who on?”
• A family member foolishly attempting to tidy up the stray wrapping paper and sweet wrappers.

Which brings me to Christmas confession #4. Although I am handy with the dishwasher on Christmas Day and keep the kitchen in order, I will easily slide into wallowing in complete untidiness in the rest of the house. And wallow I will, contributing to the Christmas TV argument (what was it last year? Spielberg versus an unpromising Thomas Hardy adaptation — and I think the men won), polishing off the port and preparing those ‘little Christmas snacks’ which are almost as gargantuan as the midday dinner itself.

(Scrooge points: 50)

That’s 64 Scrooge points and 4 Christmas confessions. Bah!

But what do you expect if you pack several adults and children into a small room with the explicit instructions “YOU WILL ENJOY YOUSELF”? Would it ever be any different?

So, despite my cynicism, here comes Christmas confession #5: I do really, secretly perhaps, love Christmas and I wouldn’t do without it. And perhaps part of the secret is possessing some sort of a sense of humour which, to give them credit, my family do have. So when I dig up the ghosts of Christmas past, like the time I lost out on the argument between Spielberg and Il Postino, at least we can all raise a glimmer of a smile. And I thought they liked sudoku.

There’s a little of Scrooge in me perhaps, more of a middle ground between the old misery Scrooge and the Christmas morning epiphany Scrooge. I’m not going to open the front door, grab the nearest small child and send them out to buy the fattest goose they can carry, and I doubt if anyone in my company will declare “God bless Us, Every One!” But the relatives come back year after year, so I must be doing something right…