And to Christmas, which everyone knows is the time of year to get together with your nearest and dearest and have a good old argument.
Sure, there’s the good will and presents, awkward work party moments and gorging on food and booze, but everyone knows the most important thing about the festive period is getting things off your chest and settling scores.
It’s a time for giving, except not when it comes down to what you call the meal you gather round for on little old baby Jesus’s birthday. No room for manoeuvre here. It’s Christmas dinner. Northern folk have been proving it online.
Now normally, IMHO, I’d say ‘breakfast, lunch, tea’. Maybe it’s because of my Cornish heritage. All different combos are used across the country. This isn’t about me though. And anyway, if you’re talking about Christmas, it’s definitely Christmas dinner.
Turns out though, there are some people who can’t do talking right. They’ve been erroneously calling it Christmas lunch.
Seriously? Christmas lunch? How is that even a thing? Yeah, Christmas Day is for stuffing yourself full to the brim with sweets, treats, meats and drinks, but you don’t sit down for your meal at lunchtime. Or do you? Are you one of them?
Frankie Luna from Scunthorpe, Lincolnshire, took to Facebook last Christmas (I gave you my heart) with a post clarifying this obviously universal truth to those in the wrong. It’s such a post that it’s still doing the rounds now that Crimbo 2k18 is just around the corner.
Just a reminder that it’s called Christmas Dinner and not Christmas Lunch, which proves the breakfast, dinner, tea argument.
Have it southerners.
Wow. Proper shade there. It’s also got that passive aggressive tone you’d expect from those folk over there on Twitter.
Despite the somewhat uncalled for aggression, people on Facebook agreed wholeheartedly. The post racked up 7.5K likes, 9.5K comments and almost 30K shares, which is pretty good for a throwaway festive jibe.
Elsewhere in the comments people are arguing over when you have Christmas dinner. It’s about 4/5pm. I’m not even going to argue this point. Oh go on then…
Wake up about 10am. Have a coffee and a cig. Shower off the smells from the Christmas Eve session. Bit of breakie with a can. Guinness preferably. Stick a film on. Have a few more tins. Have a snack. Couple more cans. Grandparents come over in the afternoon. Catch up. ‘Oh, what’s it like in Manchester this time of year?’ ‘It’s bloody cold compared to down here, Nan.’ Awkward silence. Do the presents. Find somewhere to put the presents down the side of the sofa. Offer to help Mum in the kitchen. Get turned away because you’re not in a state to help. Have dinner at about 4-5ish. That’s Christmas.
Go back into the living room. Get into a massive argument about how Brexit is going to destroy your future, and about how even after working half your life you’re still nowhere near to being able to buy a house. A little bit of: ‘Retirement? I’m going to be working until I fall into the grave!’ Calm down over The Great Escape. Disagree on the ‘They don’t make them like they used to’ someone old inevitably comes out with.
Ah Christmas, ain’t it the best time of year?
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