Andy Richardson: Christmas is coming but first, it’s autumn

Is it that time of year already? Ought we to be rehearsing our Noddy Holder impersonation – It’s Christmaaaaaaaaaaaaasssssssss – and rooting in the back of our cupboards to dust off the bargain £1-for-30 Christmas cards that we bought in the January sales. Should we forego our plans for Halloween and shrug our shoulders at Bonfire Night.

God dang! There are people across the region – actually, only a few of them, damn fools – who are already festooning their homes with expensive-to-run Christmas illuminations that are warming the planet and making polar bears slip to watery graves through melting ice too thin to bear their weight? Poor little polar bears. Lucky little fish.

Christmas is coming and it’s time to choose a turkey, write cards, chop a tree and get jiggy under mistletoe as we ready ourselves for December 25. Though the cricket season has only just finished it’s time to get hip to St Nic’s Day. Soon we will be exchanging socks, chocs and jocks and pretending that we like people who we spend the rest of the year avoiding. We’ll make mince pies that get left in the cupboard for two weeks before being thrown to the birds, convince ourselves that turkey curry tastes great on December 29, drink enough Prosecco to become a fully-fledged member of the TOWIE cast and become the proud owner of another dozen starchy handkerchiefs. We’d better hit the shops fast, man, there’s only 94 days to go and Aunty Dora is a devil to buy for.

The crass commercialisation of Christmas is evident on our computer screens and in our shopping malls. The killjoy, buck-chasing, dollar-loving, penny-pinching misanthropes who start selling us Christmas when it’s not yet winter are revving up with their 2018 campaign. In a few months from now, blokes will be forced to wear knitwear bearing the furry antlers of gleeful reindeer. Women will wear sparkly deeley boppers – are they still a thing? – with twinkling lights and mini speakers that pipe carols played on a cheap electronic keyboard.

My favourite Christmases are the quiet ones; the really quiet ones, the ones that are so quiet that they involve being in a different country where the locals don’t celebrate Christmas. Christmases that quiet are great. I had one once after taking an eight-hour flight to escape. The sun shone, there were no rubbish jokes in crackers and houses weren’t at risk or burning to the ground because of the 3,457 lights that had been plastered to the outside.

I’m not sure I understand the obsession with Christmas from two months out. Energy spent on December 25 is energy wasted when we can be getting worked up about the joys of butternut squash, learning how to cook pheasant, dressing kids as Halloween ghosts (it’s best if they’re your kids, otherwise there’ll be questions to answer) or following a favourite sports team through a hectic autumn fixture list.

Because the best part of Christmas is never the razzamatazz or the forced jollity. Nor is it the giving or receiving of gifts – unless, of course, someone’s bought you something really, really good. Forget the parties and temporary bonhomie. All of that is fleeting. The only thing that matters at Christmas is kindness. The small, thoughtful, unseen deeds that show someone – anyone – that you care are all that matter. You can cover your house in 17 snowy reindeer, three life-size Santa – I’m guessing Santa is the plural of Santa, and it’s not Santas – and hold the biggest party since Truman Capote hosted his infamous 1966 black and white ball and it won’t mean a thing if it doesn’t come with a side order of kindness.

But I’ve fallen into the trap. I’ve wasted 650 words doing the very thing I’m railing against – getting caught up in the hoopla of Christmas – when we’re just into autumn, the finest season of all.

Leaves are changing from green to yellow to orange to deep red. Mugs of hot chocolate are being loaded with marshmallows. Conker champions are soaking their horse chestnuts in vinegar the baking them in the oven. And darker nights give us the chance to enjoy cosy nights in. Misty mornings, starling murmurations and dewy spider webs enliven the senses and remind us that the UK boasts world-class wildlife right here on our door.

So all hell to Christmas. Santa can wait. When autumn brings the best colours, flavours, sensations and scenes, there’s no point worrying about mistletoe and wine for another couple of months. Better to stay in the here and now. Especially when there’s the promise of a pumpkin spiced latte.