Jingle bells, Batman smells and so forth. Yes there’s just one more sleep until the existential anomaly that is Santa Claus trespasses into your humble abode, guzzles down Coca-Cola (other carbonated beverages are available) as though Jesus himself converted it from water, asserts the annual declaration (Ho-Ho-Ho!) that suggests he retains at least 3 escorts in his possession or he has simply stolen the idiom uttered by the jolly green giant, before kissing and generally molesting your mother, at least that’s what I surmised from song and other media, thereby exerting the pagan festival manifesting a Christian faith, appropriated by commerce and celebrated by atheists and agnostics across the world. Sorry, I mean the “Christmas” tradition of Yule tide solidarity. It’s also the traditional period where I establish just how much my family knows me. Christmas is emblematic of my perceived stature of maturity as I congregate with colleagues that permit the evocation of receiving screwdriver kits to finally install a herb rack as gifts or spending quality time with their kids. My dear mother, ever congenial to her maternal instincts and fully apprised of my current predicament, phoned me to enquire whether I would prefer South Park: The Stick Of Truth or Dragon Age Isolation? Being reared by my many paternal father-figures in my life; Nintendo, SEGA, Sony, certainly determines my provocations for matured adolescence and the eternal perception of levity my mother still retains of me.
I’m a big kid that rescinds the pallid retention of ones mirth that is sanitized by perpetual ageing. I’m committed to merely exchange civil salutations and punctuate conversations with nothing more than simple, stoic declarations. I merely fraternize with the communal assimilation of maturity, just customary payment of the bills when requested, discuss the convalescence’s of society, feigning sallow curiosity in the reputed nonchalance of some political persuasions when its most requisite, but really I just want to proclaim my enthusiasm for Uncharted 4, rather than churlish declarations that are intentionally besotted, asserted with such prudent sophistry. *Yawn* Christmas permits such juvenile observances with such unifying accommodation. I can wear a horrid jumper studded with all the novelties of the festive period, implore my mother to switch on A Muppet’s Christmas Carol and again affirm it as the definitive adaptation of the Dickens literary classic, accosting the continual national pride in consuming foods we don’t like, such as Christmas puddings, a substance so despised that we ignite it’s hoping that its flammable contents will be sterilised. Or concealing the surplus Brussel Sprouts that garrison my plate under the cloying inhibitor’s I call vegetables! It’s also the congenial gratification of returning to the home that supplemented my love for gaming.
Much like gaming, it’s a reprieve. It’s the exuding acclimation of entering the home you grew up in, beguiled by the sweeping nostalgia that is the very essence of your native habitation imbued with hushed, reverent tones that retain so much pathos. Most of which occur in front of the television while gripping the various aberrations of the Nintendo controllers or that one year when I contentiously pilfered my own Christmas before it had been wrapped (A device called a GB Advance) and playing Super Mario Kart. You should have seen my expression when I unwrapped that Christmas day. “I wonder what this is?”. There’s an evoking aroma of home despite retaining permanent residency elsewhere. A comforting setting bereft of judgement where my introverted ordinance that I project wanes and I can momentarily be absolved from my the arbitrary citations that condemn me as a cynical Grinch. There’s an intimacy that can’t be emulated or replicated, just exclusivity to your own enduring family. Whether it’s the errant frigidity of the weather, listening to my Nan’s botanical stories, the miscellaneous extravagances, my Uncle flailing widely as he attempts to knock out the virtual opposition on the Wii or my girlfriend being accosted by a very hormonal dog as she enters the room (no, not me), there is a tangible radiance I don’t sustain at any other time of year, even under the persuasion of exotic influences or gaming. And I can’t wait. Just one more sleep!
Merry Christmas to everyone. And a happy New Year to you damn sexy gamers!