From the Hart
The festive season has become a shouty time of year, but Miranda Hart urges us to think about what it really means – and to find gentleness amid the noise
Hello to you, my lovely reader chum. I’m feeling excitable as my much-loved Christmas season approach-eth. Excitement in my household leads to many things, such as disco dancing to classical carols (it’s quite the art) and ending words in -eth for no reason. We must get our joy where we can-eth.
I’m also feeling pensive. Over the last few years, I’ve been reflecting on what Christmas really means to me. I believe having a value and intention for something makes that thing far more interesting, enjoyable and manageable. And, as I’ve mentioned in previous columns, I’m doing all I can not to get sucked in to the competitive, exhausting pace our culture deems necessary to be happy or successful. Christmas has to be about more than needlessly worrying over finding the right ingredients for the perfect stuffing, or getting so overwhelmed by going to every carol concert that you come dangerously close to shoving a yule log down a choir-mistress’s cake hole, or running around a shopping mall like a loon on Christmas Eve to find presents for the cousins you have nothing in common with and forgot you had invited in a rare moment of energy in July. And breathe-eth…
I was brought up in the Christian tradition, so Christmas meant a church service, carols, the Nativity: I was once a notable Angel Gabriel (aged 6), not due to any burgeoning acting skills but because my ears stuck out behind my lank hair, the halo pushing them further forward, casting an unfortunate massive ear shadow on the church wall behind the otherwise perfect candlelit scene of Jesus’s birth. However, it wasn’t until more recent years that I became interested enough to delve into the true message of that first Christmas story.
So why did I love it all so much? In some ways, it seemed a bit superficial. I loved those traditions – the singing, especially if you could really go for it on the descant of O Come, All Ye Faithful. I loved a candlelit classical music concert, as well as a raucous singalong to Do They Know It’s Christmas?. I loved the idea of shopping in a wood-hut-lined market amid the aroma of pine and cinnamon and the sweet tones of an impromptu a cappella gospel choir, as much as I loved the giant gaudy inflatable Santas and the obnoxiously beautiful shop window displays.
What I realised was that Christmas is my perfect mix of silly and joyful alongside restful and contemplative. From the aforementioned art of disco dancing to classical music, to sitting quietly in front
