Christmas

The Spectator Christmas edition – full contents | 19 December 2015

The Christmas issue of the Spectator is in the shops now, but if you don’t yet have a copy, here are the contents in full:   Features In defence of Blairism – Tony Blair Michael Gove interviews the Archbishop of Canterbury James Forsyth and Fraser Nelson interview David Cameron Mark Clarke, Bercow, Sewel: 2016 was a vintage year for the cad – Quentin Letts Yes, Eddie Redmayne played a transsexual. Does that make him qualified to speak for them? – Tom Hollander Our uniting kingdom: how opinions in Scotland and England are fast converging – Leading article If it’s Trump vs Clinton then Hillary’s path to the White House is clear. She can’t be

Is Christmas really the right time for the church to ‘man up’?

A vicar called Paul Eddy has argued, in the Oxford church newspaper, that carol services should be more manly. For there are many men who only get this annual glimpse of church, and they should be challenged in their assumption that religion is a soppy women-and-children thing. He suggests showing a clip from an action film, emphasizing the heroic nature of Jesus’s post-infant life, and keeping the sermon, and indeed the whole service, short. I sympathise. Church attendance is disproportionately female (the official figure is 59 percent, but it can feel a bit higher). And church culture can feel pretty alienating to younger men. Vicars should bear this in mind

Dear Mary: How can I remedy an insult to my bookshop customers?

From Nicky Dunne, Heywood Hill bookshop Q. A much admired actor rang our bookshop to send a hardback copy of Don Quixote, with an appreciative handwritten note, to a very distinguished fellow board-treader. Unfortunately we sent a children’s illustrated edition by mistake, thereby putting a backhand slice on what was meant to be a compliment. How can I make it up to them both? A. Obviously you should send a complimentary copy of the real version – but don’t apologise too much. Actors have the most fragile of egos and you must not risk fomenting heightened paranoia. Instead blame the mistake on your intern, explaining that, since colouring-in books for

Coffee Shots: Merry Christmas from Jeremy Corbyn

It’s happened. Jeremy Corbyn has released his annual Christmas card. The Labour leader has refrained from following the traditional MP format by including a photo of himself on the card — and has instead opted for a picture of some snow-covered bicycles: While Corbyn should be congratulated on managing to use the C-word this time around, it’s fair to say that the photo isn’t the most cheery effort around. Still, at least he has managed to push his green credentials.

Tis the season for disagreeing with your spouse about everything

The older I get, the more Scrooge-like I become. I’m dyspeptic, misanthropic, curmudgeonly, parsimonious and unsentimental. Caroline, by contrast, is even-tempered, sweet-natured, charitable, generous and easily moved. Yet paradoxically, I love Christmas, whereas she regards it as a time of year to be endured rather than enjoyed. This inevitably leads to a number of arguments and, as with everything else connected with the festival, they’ve become ritualised. So here are the rows that are guaranteed to occur in the Young household at this time of year. The season always begins with a heated discussion about external lighting. My ideal is to go Full Chav, with a giant neon-lit Santa plastered

My part-time boyfriend and I bonded over the Tooting Honey Toilets

A boyfriend’s for life, not just for Christmas. It’s no good me getting myself a nice cuddly man with whom I can wade through the snow, roast chestnuts and ice-skate in amusing bobble hats. Because then I am going to be responsible for that boyfriend for a very long time. I should know. These creatures need feeding, they need coddling. They need endless amounts of fuss, and care, and attention. A boyfriend can’t be left in the house for longer than four hours at a time, or I will come home to find he’s been lying in the bath all day and has managed to use up £200 worth of

The Lord’s Prayer is no more offensive than Jeremy Clarkson or deodorant

There was a time not so very long ago when the most common complaint about Christmas was that it had become too commercial and that its Christian significance was being forgotten. Since then the decline in religious belief in Britain has grown so much that the secularity of Christmas is taken for granted. It is effectively a pagan festival now. According to the Church of England, only about one million people, or around two per cent of the population, still attend church on Sundays (though about twice that number do so on Christmas Day). The Church is in a bad way, and it is only natural that it should seek,

Why would a dissolute rebel like Paul Gauguin paint a nativity?

A young Polynesian woman lies outstretched on sheets of a soft lemon yellow. She is wrapped in deep blue cloth, decorated with a golden star. Beside her bed sits a hooded figure, apparently an older woman, holding a baby. In the background is a huddle of resting cows, suggesting that the setting is a barn or stable. There is something familiar about the set-up — baby, young mother, farm animals — but it may take a while to notice certain details. The head of the woman on the bed is encircled by an area of darker yellow, which forms a sort of halo, and the baby’s head is similarly ringed

Why ‘safe’ is Dot Wordsworth’s word of the year

‘Makes me feel sick,’ said my husband, referring not to the third mince pie of the morning (in Advent, supposedly a penitential time of preparation), nor to accepting a glass of champagne after having earlier accepted a glass of whisky at another house. No, what made him feel sick was the seasonal greeting: ‘God bless, and be safe.’ For once, I agreed with him. It was bad enough to be exhorted to drive safely or even stay safe during periods when terrorists had eased off a bit (after peak IRA, but before 2001). But now, with a fashion for shooting civilians in unexpected places, to be told to be safe

Steerpike

The Spectator Christmas Carol Service, in pictures

Last night guests gathered at St Bride’s Church on Fleet Street for the Spectator’s annual Christmas concert. The St Bride’s Choir provided the carols in the church — which is regarded by many as the official spiritual home for journalists — as hacks including Andrew Neil, Fraser Nelson, Jeremy Clarke and Mary Wakefield gave readings. While attendees dug deep to raise funds for Macmillan Cancer Support, they were rewarded with mince pie and mulled wine in the foyer after the service. Here are a selection of photos from the event:

Seasonal advice from the great and the good

Clare Balding I love a good walk on Boxing Day followed by watching the racing at Kempton. Avoid the internet. Be present in the moment, enjoying time with family rather than being distracted by online conversations. Alain de Botton My favourite ritual is reminding everyone involved that we will, of course, be having a sad and tense Christmas; there will be arguments, frustration, bitterness and barely suppressed longings to be elsewhere with other (better, more interesting) people. The food will be mediocre or, if tasty, will exact such passive-aggressive retribution from those who made it that it would have been better to have a sandwich. The children’s presents will be

Christmas Notebook | 10 December 2015

As I strolled through the aisles in a large department store, I almost choked when I read a large display that blared: ‘Don’t forget to treat your pussy at Christmas…’ with relief I read the rest of the ad: ‘…and your bow-wow too!’ Beneath the dubious banner lay a massive display of beautifully wrapped chew toys, scratching posts and all manner of treats and playthings. That’s when I realised this entire Christmas practice has gone truly bonkers. Every 6 January I breathe a sigh of relief as I take down and store the enormous number of Christmas decorations with which I festoon my house. ‘Never again!’ I say to Percy,

Matthew Parris

The question Christianity fails to answer: ‘Who is my neighbour?’

‘Fine old Christmas,’ wrote George Eliot, ‘with the snowy hair and ruddy face, had done his duty that year in the noblest fashion, and had set off his rich gifts of warmth and colour with all the heightening contrast of frost and snow.’ Thus opens the second chapter of Book II of The Mill on the Floss. I had found the passage when searching for a secular reading for my newspaper column’s readers at a carol service at St Bride’s church in Fleet Street a couple of nights ago. I knew at once I’d found what I wanted. Eliot had been my first port of call. You can be confident

Radio is flowering because it’s so much more potent than TV

Who would have thought in this visually obsessed age of YouTube, selfies and Instagram that radio, pure audio, no images attached, nothing to hold on to but a voice, a tune, a blast of birdsong, could not only survive the arrival of the new image-making and digital technologies but experience an extraordinary flowering of talent and expression. Thousands of radio stations are popping up right across the globe, ready for you to tap into via your smartphone or tablet, taking you straight from SW9 or NE69 to Chicago, Cape Town, Lviv or Marrakech. The quality of the sound produced by these stations is less important than an ability to draw

Martin Vander Weyer

Ye who now will bless the poor Shall yourselves find blessing

  I thought you might enjoy a little parable for Christmas, so here goes… The boardroom clock said twelve minutes to one. A waft of gravy in the air indicated that Christmas lunch awaited in an adjacent room. One agenda item to go: Colin the company secretary made a throat-cutting gesture to Kevin from health and safety, who had exceeded his allotted time for a presentation on disposal of toxic waste from Indonesian supplier factories. Coming after Maureen the HR director’s Powerpoint on ‘issues around diversity’, this had entirely lost the attention of the board, most of whom, Colin observed, were fiddling with their phones under the table. Except for

James Delingpole

Was my article the inspiration for this brilliant BBC dramatisation?

The two things I hate most about Christmas are a) Advertland showing me how sparkly and joyous my home and bright-eyed kids are at this time of year, and b) the Doctor Who Xmas special telling me that if only I can open my heart and put cynicism aside, then I too can enjoy a mash-up of Dickens, C.S. Lewis and the Brothers Grimm, where daleks with tinsel round their guns exterminate the spirit of Scrooge as laughing children come pouring from the Ice Queen’s dungeon and something nice happens on a London housing estate. Or similar. That’s what was so great about We’re Doomed! The Dad’s Army Story (BBC2,

Coffee Shots: Merry Christmas from Nigel Evans, the deep-thinker

Although Diane Abbott’s Christmas card efforts have been well-documented this year — with the Labour MP even finding time to write them during hostile meetings of the PLP, Nigel Evans is surely a contender for the ‘most striking Christmas card’ award. Evans has today sent out his own batch of cards which feature the man himself looking pensively into the distance. Happily they also tick the festive-box thanks to a charming Christmas tree mug he clutches in the shot: Good to see he has so much time on his hands.

The ten best home video releases of 2015

‘Tis the season for end-of-year lists. Here is mine. It’s for the ten best home video releases of 2015; which is to say, the ten best DVDs or Blu-rays released in Britain this year. I’m leaving out releases from abroad, even though that means leaving out some of my favourites, so as to spare your wallets. All of these can be bought without import fees or much delay. There are other caveats and restrictions. The biggest is that, despite trying my best, I cannot watch everything. There are some major releases that I haven’t got around to yet (including this Yoshida set, which I’m saving for the Christmas break). There