Christmas Travesties (PAPERBACK)

INTRODUCTION

I am envious of people who love Christmas, with the purest and simplest of joys.

The ones who lovingly wrap and unwrap their glass decorations from year to year.

The death-defying ones who climb on the roof to string up  Christmas lights, (that cost them a fortune in electricity).

And especially the ones who are delighted with gifts of socks, ties and sensible underpants.

Not forgetting the ones who happily wear Christmas jumpers, ties, socks and jewellery. Especially the kind with flashing lights.

And bells.

Christmas and I have had an uneasy relationship for most of my life. Looking back, it seems as though every traumatic event has happened in the lead up to Christmas.

Starting with emigrating to Australia when I was five.

Followed by my parents splitting up, my divorce, my father’s death, then my favourite Aunt Muriel’s, and not much later, my mother’s.

Did you know the lead up to Christmas is also the peak period for transplants?

My transplant came during that period too, and while I am deeply grateful to the family that permitted it, I am very much aware that my life continues through someone else’s death.

Mind you, when I was younger, I looked forward to the lead up to Christmas, but not so much to the actual day.

My mother made Christmas puddings in September. Every year until she gave it up when I was about fifteen because she said they didn’t cure right.

We’d get out the nasty plastic tree on December 1, (no smell of pine or fallen needles that needed clearing up for us) and pull out the decorations. Some of them survived the trip from England with us. And then we’d fill up the tree and lounge room with them.

Sometime in December Muriel’s gifts would arrive from England, always exactly right, with a big tin of Quality Street chocolates and another of Huntley & Palmer biscuits for the family, right up until the company shut down.

We were allowed one fancy and one plain with our tea, because otherwise we’d scoff all the chocolate ones. My favourite was the bon bon.

And on Christmas Eve the gifts would appear under the tree, and “Santa” came by after we were asleep.

Always with a stocking made from a football sock that included an orange in the heel, and a string bag of unshelled nuts in the toe.

But Christmas Day itself was almost invariably a nightmare.

Dad would get drunk, my parents would fight, and my brother and I would disappear until tea time so we didn’t have to see it.

Year after year, the same pattern.

Even after they split up.

There’s something insane about a family Christmas when there’s no family.

One year, when I was about twenty-five, we had Christmas at mine. I don’t remember the exact details, but Dad got drunk and accused Mum of ruining Christmas.

It’s become a kind of code for me and my husband, a sly tongue-in-cheek dig for things of no consequence.

Bad haircut? “He ruined Christmas.” Shop ran out of milk? “They ruined Christmas.” Doctor’s running late? “She ruined Christmas.”

I can’t be the only one that feels this way.

So I decided to put my own collection of stories together for Christmas, and just like those tins of biscuits, or boxes of chocolate, this collection includes something bitter and sweet. Dark, nutty and plain.

Starting with Christmas Bonanza; it takes beauty, brains and brawn to win The Christmas Bonanza – the most anticipated reality show on TV. But Edina Montrose wants to win. No matter the cost.

Then the Remains of Christmas; having spent all her life in the military, all Penelope Cradock knows is how to be a soldier. Never married, lost her unit and her family in the war. And while the Empire conquered her people, Christmas conquered the Empire.

In Christmas Kisses Ava Gibson, slightly stressed event manager, organising the Goldings Investment Bank annual Christmas dinner. Ryan Griffith, high flyer, confirmed bachelor, and Christmas Sceptic. Knocking heads together. Literally.

And during the Christmas Conflagration, Matilda May McDonald, so-called crazy catlady, owner of four dogs, trapped by her past. Perhaps this Christmas offers more than salvation.

Finally, Christmas Business, where Vada Paloma was busy working undercover. So deep undercover she can’t find her way back. Could Christmas be the key to unlocking her present?

So I hope you…

if not exactly enjoy, then are perhaps satisfied with these stories.

–

Alexandria Blaelock

Melbourne, Australia

November 2021

 

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