No Christmas crackers? Don’t mess with tradition…

Is your Christmas tree down yet? Because it should be. I took down our tree on January the sixth because that’s when you should. It’s tradition.

It’s the lore. Or law.

Sure, it was a random Thursday and I had things to do, and the far more convenient weekend was only two days away, but who am I to challenge tradition?

I’d already messed with tradition at least once this Christmas, because we sat down to the traditional feast of turkey and Brussels sprouts without – brace yourself – Christmas crackers.

It wasn’t through a lack of trying.

The thing is I like a posh cracker – the ones with the good stuff inside: rubbish nail-clippers, a wonky eggcup made from a spring, a tiny pack of cards – but I don’t like the price of them.

I’ve got wise over the years though. Things like crackers and wrapping paper tend to go on sale a day or two before Christmas, so that’s when I make a last-minute dash to the shops.

Some 50% off?

Yes please.

However, this year there wasn’t a cracker to be had, not even the cheap ones. Not even full price. Not anywhere.

“Help!” I wailed to the manager in one shop.

“I’m going to be in trouble if I don’t get crackers. It’s tradition!” He managed to feign sympathy, but regardless I went home empty-handed, certain that Christmas was ruined.

Himself, bless him, mutinously declared that crackers were lame, yet still he took the dog off on a very long walk, stopping at numerous little corner cafés in the hope of finding one forgotten, dusty box.

We made a plan in the end.

We have gold plastic crowns which we re-use every year (those paper crowns that come with crackers are no match for the giant Ridyard bonce) and I told everyone to bring a bad Christmas joke to the table instead.

We laughed a lot.

Turns out we didn’t need crackers at all.

End of tradition.

Then on Friday night, I looked out the window and saw my neighbour’s Christmas tree all aglow, a festive swansong, while my house stood dark.

Stupid tradition.

“You know what?” said a friend when I told her.

“Tradition is like being bullied by dead people.”

An epiphany indeed.

Maybe next year I can jettison the Brussels sprouts…