We always have a very quiet, peaceful Christmas here at Tribble Towers; we don’t subscribe to the commercial, money-grabbing circus that the festive season has become. Gifts are simple but much-desired, food is cooked with love and it’s all about sharing in each other and giving thanks for the simple things in life that so many take for granted.
Not for us the traditional family gathering and inevitable embarrassing relatives and arguments; just Tribble and me, together in our home at Christmas. As it should be.
I prefer to keep gifts to a minimum and I always make sure that the gifts are well thought out and will actually be wanted – I’m not the type of person who buys all kinds of rubbish just so I can say that I got lots of gifts for someone; I’ve never understood why people do that. I, for one, would sooner recieve a few quality items that people know will be treasured, as opposed to piles of old tat that will only be put on Freecycle.
In years past, my sister and I would hide the tackier candle holders that our mother insisted on giving us; my sister would say she couldn’t remember where hers was (although it was always “Somewhere”. In the bin for instance) and I’d say that my son had broken it – because that’s an infallible excuse when you have a severely autistic, destructive toddler; nobody gets mad at anybody for the “loss” and the toddler is blissfully unaware that he’s supposedly destroyed something he’s never laid eyes on! Of course, I can’t do that now that he’s a strapping young man of 15; he’d knock my head from my shoulders and use it as a bowling ball for sure.
Oh yes; I have fond memories of how we used to deal with unwanted gifts in my family back in the day. My sister and I are inventive to a fault, and our mother eventually got the hint about candles and candleholders not being desired – especially because the last set she gave to me melted all down the coffee table and solidified on the carpet while Tribble and I were watching Doctor Who and therefore not looking! I told her about it. In great, epic detail. Just to make really sure that she got the idea that I Wasn’t Pleased.
Tribble and I still recieve rubbish gifts of course, because apparently it isn’t enough to be told twenty million and one times that your daughter-in-law is allergic to chocolates and that your son detests them, or that neither of us drink white wine (in all fairness to Dom’s dad he’s a really nice man… but he is also the man who asked us to check for a message he left on the answering machine that we don’t have, even after being told repeatedly that we do not have an answering machine. Work that one out, if you can). However, these are always offset by the wonderful gifts from the rest of our family – fandom calendars from MiL and her husband, for instance (Doctor Who for me, Discworld for Tribble).
Also, you can never beat great big squishy hugs from a niece and nephew who don’t know you very well, but think you’re pretty cool because you have remote controlled battling Daleks even though you’re a “grown-up” (HAHA!), and a different coloured Ukulele for every day of the week. No, I really do. You’ll see pictures when I can take some. As I’ve mentioned, I’m autistic – so I’m almost OCD when it comes to things that I collect.
This year we ate a four bird roast with all the trimmings and exchanged gifts amid much laughter and fannish squee – mostly from me since Tribble had bought me…
A purring, shrieking, vibrating Tribble plushie!!
Bless my Tribble; I have wanted one of those for such a long time and he knew it. He also gave me a hilarious Adipose Stress Toy, which I have rather unimaginitively named Squishy. We died laughing several times over whilst watching Russell Howard and various other fun Christmas editions of shows we watch on a regular basis, and we drank and were merry. Very Very Merry. And silly. And giggly. Okay, you get the picture.
Then the Doctor came for Christmas, and brought with him the usual magic and adorableness and charm that he always does. I squeed and laughed and sighed and cried as I always do with the Doctor Who Christmas Special, and wanted to Do Bad Things to Matt Smith (nothing new there). It was such a heartwarming story, concentrating on a woman’s strength and determination – so the Moffat bashers can go away and stop calling him a sexist pig now, because Madge was utterly awesome and I think she needs to team up with Madam Vastra to fight evil through time.
In all, we have had a wonderful holiday, full of love, laughter, fun and contentment.
And Doctor Who. There is always room for the Doctor at our dinner table, because the Doctor makes everything better.