So it's over. It's all over for another year.
I'm delighted that it passed me by without any akward family arguments, forced smiles when I open a present I clearly don't like, pine needles stuck in my new socks, crackers and the hideous paper hats contained within, dusting the mince pie crumbs from my lap, hangovers laced with disgrace and self-loathing, going on walks in the cold just because it's Christmas, pretending to enjoy the company of the people I grew up with, drinking in a protestant cave with racists and slappers, my arteries feeling like vegetable oil runs through them and selection box-induced diabetes.
Today it is as far as it could possibly be from it happening again. That makes me smile like yesterday just couldn't. The weird thing about that is that Christmas tries to make you happy, it desperately wants to make you happy. Christmas fucking owes you. You spend hundreds of pounds trying to force happiness, with the food, the booze, the tree, the decorations, the cards, the stamps to send the cards, the presents, the gift paper, the ribbons, the little sticky card things you put on the presents and crackers. Boxing day just does it's thing, not trying to impress anyone. It doesn't want to make the 3rd of March or the 22nd of August, or any other random non-event day on the calendar, jealous like Christmas does. Christmas is a egotistical, self-centred wanker that wants the whole year to revolve around him. Boxing day leaves him to it and picks up the pieces.
And why do we succumb to this social farce? Because a religion you don't believe in says that it's saviour was born on this day 2008 years ago. Hmmmmm, let's instead just use the day to trying to get on with life, try to do the same things you would do any normal day, eat an ordinary, human amount of food, drink as much as you feel comfortable with, wear the jumper you want to wear and not the one that you're expected to wear because it was a gift and watch good TV, not force fed dribble with Q-list celebrites degrading themselves trying desperately to salvage a fame that faded away into the center fold of a magazine you can read at the dentists.
What I am trying to say is, if you don't believe in Jesus and don't have any kids in your family, don't bother. Happiness can't be forced, no matter how much blood, sweat, effort, money and alcohol you throw at it. Why should we have fun on this day? Because we're told to?
Merry Boxing day you happy little hangovers!