Life

Nuala McCann: Wishing the elf on his shelf a very happy Christmas - far away from these shores

Nuala McCann

Nuala McCann

Nuala McCann is an Irish News columnist and writes a weekly radio review.

The elf and his comrades can stay away from Nuala's shelf this Christmas
The elf and his comrades can stay away from Nuala's shelf this Christmas The elf and his comrades can stay away from Nuala's shelf this Christmas

THE elf on the shelf is stuck in China with thousands of his comrades - will he make it in time for Christmas?

There are some that I know who think this is not a bad thing.

For oldies, like me, who know not the elf, he/she/they is a small creature who has his own little door in a family's wainscot. That's a skirting board if you're wondering.

In the month of December, the elf arrives on your shelf and keeps a beady eye on small children waiting for Santa.

They must behave. The elf has eyes everywhere.

The elf pops up in different spots each day - on the kitchen shelf, on top of the television, is that the elf behind the loo? Did you remember to flush?

My brother who has five children, is kind of relieved that the elf might not appear.

Christmas is labour intensive when you have to dream up a new place for the elf to appear every day.

To me, the elf reeks of Big Brother. He's watching your every move. My elf would end up with its nose in the compost bin and good riddins to bad rubbish.

Christmas this year sounds about as exciting as last.

Between fears of food shortages and worries about heating bills rocketing, we might all be living A Christmas Carol with Tiny Tim and his crutch in the corner... Gawd bless us, every one.

And this will perhaps appeal to those of us who hate the mad commercial nature of Christmas, the buying for the sake of it, the forced jollity. Bah humbug, I say.

It's not that I didn't used to love Christmas... it's just that you kind of stop loving it when you are its managing director.

It's when all the present buying and card writing and cooking fall to you. It's the idea of the Christmas dinner - cooking the damn beast of a turkey even when nobody really likes turkey.

You wake up on Christmas morning and the whole day is spread before you... turkey beast, cocktail sausages wrapped in bacon and all.

I once read a woman's sorry tale of making Christmas dinner - the timings, it's all about the timings - and laughed at her reference to the smell of "singed martyr" wafting from the kitchen.

It's children that make Christmas magical. Seeing the joy in their eyes is worth a burnt sausage or two.

But my problem, I tell my sisters, is that I loved my mother's Christmases and I could never replicate them.

Into my 20s, I was still sailing around from Christmas party to Christmas do, dodging the boss under the mistletoe and buying everyone cherry brandy chocolates as gifts on a last minute spree just before the shops closed on Christmas Eve.

Then, I'd sweep into our house and mum would have it all done.

Beautiful Christmas cake - tick.

Presents for all - tick

A dinner to die for complete with her home-made stuffing, crispy roasties and a home-made trifle - tick, tick, tick.

How could I and my running mate, Marks & Spencer compete with that?

Ma never said: I hate Christmas.

Ma never said: Look how much work I put into this and you've all gobbled it up in less than five minutes.

She never channelled her inner singed martyr.

And therein lie a few lessons.

My friend tells me she's way ahead on the Christmas shopping.

I'll meet you for a coffee but I'm not Christmas shopping, I tell her.

And neither I am.

I live with two men who really can't understand the fuss.

I've another friend whose close family put their names in a hat and pick out just one.

Then they spend £100 on that person.

I put the idea to my two men who promptly confessed that they didn't spend £100 any way and as there are just the three of us, it doesn't make sense.

They live in my old Christmas bubble... they don't take it seriously.

But if time has taught me anything, it is that happiness lies in the moment.

This year, we'll savour the moments: Christmas Eve Mass; the old familiar carols; the crib, and whipping a bit of straw to keep in your pocket.

Small happy moments that are miles away from a pile of presents.

May the elf on his shelf have a very happy Christmas far away from these shores.