The cheesy sound of Christmas past (From Watford Observer)

The cheesy sound of Christmas past

11:37am Monday 19th December 2011

• Print
• Email
• Comments(0)

As I type this week’s offering, a thin, sloppy smattering of snow is falling outside. My tree is twinkling in the corner, creaking occasionally under the weight of all those baubles, and one of my special Christmas CDs is cranking out something jaunty featuring the blessed Cliff, jingling bells and a lisping child choir.

Goodness me, it’s like Santa’s grotto in here, I think smugly, idly wondering if 10.30am is really too early for a Cappuccino Baileys?

The answer, of course, is yes, although I’m keeping an eye on the clock on our holly-festooned mantelpiece (this year featuring light-up red berries). Once the sun’s over the yard arm - and I estimate that’ll be around 12.05pm in the depths of winter - I’ll be pouring myself a warming noggin of the drink that everyone pretends not to like.

Cliff has just come to the end of Mistletoe and Wine - well, actually a schoolboy with an alarming falsetto is finishing off the last verse for him - and I know without a shadow of doubt that the next festive tune on this particular CD will be Steeleye Span’s Gaudete. This is because I’ve had this disc, imaginatively titled It’s Christmas Time, since 1992. I’ve heard it so many times that I know the order without even having to look.

Unfortunately, I can’t actually listen to Gaudete now without thinking of Alan Partridge giving it some vocal welly in the episode that featured a visit to the owl sanctuary. I also know that the next song will be Chris de Burgh’s A Spaceman Came Travelling with its courageous Erich Von Daniken take on the nativity, and after that Mud (remember them?) will be Lonely this Christmas…again.

I rather like the cosy certainty of my musical Christmas collection, but I have to admit that in recent years, friends have rolled their eyes and curled their lips when I insist on playing it during their seasonal visits.

“I can’t believe you still have that. Surely it must have warped by now,” commented one chum tartly last December as the strains of Another Rock and Roll Christmas blared from the speakers.

“Isn’t there a law preventing anything by Gary Glitter?” she added as Gary got to the climactic bit in the chorus about ’unwrapping a big surprise’ while his backing group, apparently composed of small children, yodelled along enthusiastically.

To be fair, my friend is one of those alien (to me) souls who turn up their nose at Santa and all his works (although that doesn’t stop her tucking into a reasonably priced Cava chez nous with unbridled festive enthusiasm).

A musical purist, she’s not the sort to buy a compilation CD of any sort, unless it features rare tracks by Guatemalan nose flautists or female Bulgarian open-throat folk singers, so I never really imagined that she’d be bowled over by Now! That’s What I Call Christmas (1,2,3,4 and 5).

Now, I gave up any pretensions to good taste years ago when it comes to anything related to December. For 11 months of the year, I just about manage to hold it together as a functioning adult with a smidgeon of discernment and style. But sadly, once I’ve opened the first door on the advent calendar, that’s it - pour me a snowball/Baileys/Tia Maria and peel me a Quality Street - preferably the strawberry cream.

I’m proud to admit that the soundtrack that accompanies my annual bout of tinsellitis is more cheesy than the deli counter at Waitrose. And what’s more it’s nostalgic, too… not always in a good way.

I can’t hear Mike Oldfield’s Portsmouth, for example, without being reminded of the time during my first Christmas at university when I fell off a 4ft podium and twisted my ankle while dancing enthusiastically to it. If I add that I was incredibly ‘well refreshed’ at the time and was insisting on demonstrating my clog dancing technique, you’ll appreciate why this jaunty tune is forever associated in my mind with a pained air of Proustian melancholy, or perhaps I’m still crippled with embarrassment after all these years?

Boney M’s classic Mary’s Boy Child reminds me of the year I met my husband. Out Christmas shopping together for the first time, I was so excited to hear one of my favourites piped into the store that I started to sing along.

After a short time, I realised that my then-boyfriend was staring at me with a look of absolute horror plastered across his face.

‘For goodness sake, don’t be so stuffy,’ I squeaked. ‘I’m only singing in public, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.’ ‘It’s not that,’ he hissed, ‘It’s the phoney Caribbean accent. It’s embarrassing and it’s possibly racist. We might be arrested.”

Needless to say, I have never felt able to sing along to anything by Boney M ever again…although there was that time at a 40th birthday party when someone played Ra Ra Rasputin… Mind you, there are good memories too. For every Portsmouth and Mary’s Boy Child there’s a Fairytale of New York, a Ring Out Solstice Bells, a Do They Know it’s Christmas or a Power of Love to set me tingling with the spirit of the season.

And there’s always room for some new additions to my festive favourites. This year, I’ve been singing along to Christmas Tree by Lady Gaga, although I’m not entirely convinced that she’s got a Nordman fir in mind. Then again, if you listen to classy Ella Fitzgerald singing Santa Claus Got Stuck in my Chimney you’ll realise that seasonal smut has been around for years.

Just in case you think I’m a completely lost cause, with more execrable and excessive taste than the entire cast of TOWIE, I’d just like to add that my absolute favourite song for this time of year is Kate Bush’s beautiful, peculiar December Will Be Magic Again - and on that high note I wish you all a magical Christmas.