Christmas Games.

By Friday Puppy

There is always a level on envy when a British person looks at how Americans do Christmas. Everything just seems so much bigger, brighter, more sparkly and as if you invented the whole thing whilst eating a Big Mac, drinking a Coke and just simply living the American dream. Every Christmas movie thrown out of Hollywood like a multi-million dollar snowball just makes us Brits realise that we somehow lack the imagination and commitment to make it as magical as you can. I simply don’t believe that it doesn’t snow throughout the whole of the USA on Christmas Day and you don’t all stroll down the streets romantically holding hands and looking in shop windows before gazing into each others eyes.

However, speaking to Matt on Christmas day it suddenly dawned on me that you possibly lack something that money can not buy!!

The terrible Great British family games.

Lets start with Pass the Parcel. Please forgive me if you know what this is – Maybe as Matt and I are two childless spinsters it might just be that this whole concept of party games has passed us by, however let me tell you something, if it was Pass the Vodka then we both would both be preparing for the 2012 Olympic Games.

So let me set the picture, Christmas Day, I (a 32 year old gay) was sat on the floor in a circle with my parents, our next door neighbours, my sister and her three children and to the delightful tunes of Rihanna we passed around a parcel until the music stopped. Whoever it stopped on then got to take the first layer of wrapping off and won the prize hidden under that one sheet before revealing another layer……the music starts and the parcel continued its seemingly never-ending journey.

Sounds fun?

I am 30 f***ing 2 year old man and I am strategically planning how long to keep hold of the parcel to ensure that I was the one it stopped on. I stared at my sisters children like they were suicide bombers holding some form of Rudolph wrapped grenade which was only safe in my hands, encouraging them to pass it to me so that just by the grace of god it landed on me and I got to unwrap a layer and win the $1 sweet that was hidden under the layer!

Holywoodesque Christmas scenes in Britain???   No thanks, we have pass the parcel and a bucket full of sprouts to eat.

The next game was Chocolate Knife and Fork. The rules to this are simple. There is a huge slab of chocolate on the floor and once again you all sit round in a big circle like some form of chocolate seance.  One at a time you throw a dice (or is it die….that always confused me?!?), and if you landed on a 6 then you had to quickly put on a pair of gloves, wool hat and scarf and pick up a knife and fork and cut and eat the chocolate one lump at a time and just keep on doing that until the next 6 is thrown.

I love my nieces more than anything on this earth, but oh good god, I became an animal wanting me some of that knife and fork chocolate action. I actually rose to the challenge against 7 year olds and did everything in my adult power to ensure they did not roll a 6 and if they did that they took so long to put their woolies on so they didn’t get any chocolate.

This has however come at a price. I am now sat like a rather bloated mess unable to run properly, banned from Christmas games with my family and not allowed within a 2 mile radius of any pass the parcel parties.

Needless to say that I am now extremely out of shape, have been disowned by my sisters children and banned from any children’s party in a 2 mile radius!

Don’t get me wrong….I am not from some outback trailer park, and weren’t raised by a pack of wolves, this is actually how us Brisith people spend Christmas Day.

So if next Christmas you get a little fed up off all the American Christmas cheers, twinkly lights on every tree and candy canes in spitting distance of every direction, then just thank your lucky stars that you are not sat in a circle  passing a parcel to Rihanna and waiting for the music to end whilst desperately trying to digest a 3,000 calorie dinner you just had to force down whilst just praying Santa bought you a gastric band.

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