The impending festive season will transform life into a universal utopia, it has emerged.
Everything bad in the world is due to vanish like a capable magician with the onslaught of Christmas and all its inherent cheer. It has now been many months since the first decorations were draped outside pubs and department stores began integrating festive songs into their playlists like water droplets into a pastry mix, but finally the end of hardship is looming like a badger advancing into a rabbit warren.
As festive adverts begin to overrun commercial breaks like a car reversing onto a child’s bicycle, two things become clear: firstly that Christmas is coming, and secondly that because of that fact, everything is going to be absolutely brilliant forever. The major retailers have abandoned their previous sales strategies along with summer dresses and leg wax, choosing instead to take on the kindly, charitable role of presenting to the world the kind of paradise we can expect once advent is upon us.
These magnificent mini feature films parade before us like ambassadors of peace, reassuring us all that things are going to be just dandy. In these warm conjectures on upcoming bliss, the food chain is abandoned in favour of love and harmony as bear and hare congregate together around spectacularly adorned public trees. Furthermore, girls can now wear underwear outdoors in midwinter without fear of a frosty death. Significantly most astonishing of the lot, your children will soon realise you are the funniest person on the planet and want to hang out with you all the time. Granny’s a bit nippy, but after the chestnuts are roasted she’s welcome to the fire. Everything’s going to be great.
Fish-handler Martin Morgan is overwhelmed by the hint of glory to come. “I can’t believe it,” he told us. “Two months ago my wife left me. The subsequent comfort eating saw me become medically obese five weeks later. Then I burnt my house down while making a flan and now I live in an abandoned fridge outside the local chip shop. But as I stare through their window at the television screen next to the deep fat fryer, I see that we are on the verge of entering a magical world where there is no acrimony or poverty. Everyone is so attractive, and all women will love me as long as I wear an amusing jumper and make barista-style coffee. Even if they don’t, the animals are so anthropomorphised that I wouldn’t mind settling down with one of them, or even a lovely hardworking animated snowman, although we may have to relocate to the freezer compartment.”
These festive previews have warmed the nation like a radiator in the house of someone with a hefty disposable income. However, not all citizens are convinced by such indications of unlimited joy. Amy Darwin, a sales assistant at one of the main chain bookstores, distrusts the promise of perfect, unbridled happiness. “Yesterday a woman came in and wordlessly handed me a scrap of paper,” she told us. “It was a list of descriptions of books she wanted but couldn’t remember the name of. One of them just said ‘yellow cover with dog on’. After nearly two hours of searching, I put the lot in her hand. She gave them back and said she could get them cheaper on Amazon.
“If I was that bear I’d smash the alarm clock over the hare’s overeager little head.”