Being born in 1965 and turning 60 in April 2025, I did something this year I’ve never done – chose to spend Christmas Day and Boxing Day alone.
Well, sort of.
Growing up in Thorne, Doncaster I had little say in Christmas matters up to 18, when I departed to study English in Sunderland, returning “home” at the end of the autumn term, a ritual that continued from 20 to 33, before marriage, even though I had my own modest terraced home from the age of 22 in Shaw, Oldham.
Every year since has been spent with company – until this one.
There’s this remarkable expectation, often stated, that “you can’t possibly spend Christmas Day on your own” and remarkably, I fell in line, and duly visited friends for both days.
Until this year.
I’ve not morphed into a Billy No Mates at all; though my circle of friends has shrunk considerably over the decades, but, this year, I politely declined kind invitations as I wanted to see what two days of doing what I wanted, when social expectations are demanding on two public holidays.
I did it.
Christmas Day I unwrapped a mountain of self-gifts from under my real tree. There were no surprises – or disappointments. A couple of presents from friends delighted me too – posh eau de parfum and coffee beans from one, and coffee and a snood / neck gaiter from another.
Both fuelled me and protected me on Christmas Day and Boxing Day, photos of which I’ve posted.
I didn’t go in for the palaver of a full roast dinner either day – an M and S fillet steak, with chips, gravy and green beans, washed down with alcohol free Merlot, was the perfect easy meal after a drive to Malham, in the Yorkshire Dales.
Christmas Day was perfect completing the much trodden route of Janet’s Foss, Gordale Scar and Malham Cove, with fewer people than usual but rich conversations to satisfy. Chatted with a couple from the Phillipines, and a Compliance expert from Bingley, with fire door surveys, life lessons and building safety case reports, discussed over my packed lunch. It was freezing up there but I was gorpcored up.
Boxing Day saw me head for Hollingsclough, in Staffordshire, with sunnier but even colder weather. When first married, our home was in Cheddleton, near Leek and, after that, Waterhouses, near the Manifold Valley.
On the descent from Chrome Hill, I got chatting to a couple from Leek and Macclesfield, and, though my footing was firm on the steep decline, I went happily down rabbit holes of the past, to my stag night in Leek, pub quiz membership in Wetley Rocks. At the final section, I met Ben and Dawn from Warslow and again, wonderful memories were shared of life in the Staffordshire Moorlands in the 90s.
The point really then, perhaps, is I didn’t spend either Christmas Day or Boxing Day alone. I don’t spend any days alone really either as I have an intelligent and exercise-hungry border collie, Cassie, to walk, talk with and listen to her snoring and farting under my bed.
Bliss.
Looking back over the 60 years, I posted on Instagram that both days engendered deep joy in me – simple meals, chats with strangers, rural beauty and the absolute endorphin rush of strenuous walking and scrambling.
So much so, that if and when I get invited anywhere on 25th and 26th December, I will say “Oh that’s lovely but no thank you.”
This Christmas activity has taken 60 years to unfold and, to be honest, it’s been such a flex that I will rinse and repeat every year from now on – until the care home calls, of course.
