Every year since I can remember, there has been a tripod set up in the living room, where a twinkling Christmas tree faces straight down the barrel of an old camcorder lens. On Christmas morning, after we’re all showered and primped, my family spend the first part of our day opening gifts while the camera’s red light winks at us. My mum insists on recording every Christmas; my dad obliges and inevitably needs help setting up the camera properly; my brother and I sometimes sigh at being caught on film, year in and year out.
But as my parents get older – as I grow up far beyond the childlike excitement at Christmas – I’ve come to savour this strange tradition. The fact that I have over 30 years of Christmas videos (yet to be watched – that’s a 2025 job for someone far more technical than me) is absolutely mad and incredibly special.
Other traditions in our household at Christmas include: crab linguine on Christmas Eve with a bottle of very delicious, crisp and ice-cold white wine. Scrambled eggs with chives from the garden and a cheeky glass of champagne around 10am. Printing out the Christmas dinner menu at the request of my mum, which she then places on our dinner plates at the table, where candles are lit and far too much food for three people is happily sat. I’m formally banned from the kitchen, except to peel potatoes or grab hot plates from the oven. This is my mother’s day; a perfectly executed procession of all things delicious, from seafood starters (another tradition is buying frozen lobster tails from Wing Yip, our favourite Asian supermarket, weeks before) to her famous apricot and sausage meat stuffing, which is quite honestly the stuff of dreams.
I’ll always hear my dad in his study, where he sits, glasses on, scrolling through an old Palm Pilot, as he calls everyone in his address book to wish them a happy Christmas. I’m often passed the phone to catch up with old family friends in Greece, or to send my love to my Auntie Diane up in Lancashire. It’s one of my favourite things to witness – the kindness of it all.
As I’ve gotten older, the gifts become obsolete. We agreed to not exchange proper presents with the adults, instead focusing on the two little girls whose eyes light up at the shimmer of wrapping paper and the promise of something new. The videos are getting shorter, but the time together is becoming more special, as is my mum’s Christmas menu – more elaborate and delicious every year. I hope you manage to savour your end-of-year traditions, whatever they are and with whoever they might be.
Words by Cat Sarsfield
