As a young man I hated going to church. It was boring and cold and I knew from an early age that I didn't buy into the stuff that was being pedalled here. But throughout my adolescence I had to carry on going, at least at Christmas. And I could have resisted, but maybe was aware of the impact it would have on the family or thought I might not get my presents if I didn't go. Or was just too much of a wuss to properly rebel. Whatever the case, it took me until my mid-20s until I refused to go along. And I have stayed strong in that refusal ever since. Even when my nephews and nieces were little and begged me to come along. Even when, over the years, it's become quite a fun sounding tradition, where the younger members of my family (and all my nephews and nieces are in their 20s themselves now) go to the pub, then come to the midnight service, sit at the back and gently giggle at my mum, who is part of the choir, or pull faces at her as she walks past in solemn processions. They are all keen to attend, even though they aren't kids any more and don't have to. I have stuck to my resolve and stayed at home.
But this year my girlfriend really wanted to come to the service. She's an atheist too, but her family never went to church and she was interested to see what it involved, but also, I think, she saw it was a family occasion and was keen to be a part of the fun. And after all my year's of adolescent protest, because she wanted to come, I had to come as well. Simple as that. It's an age old tale of a man giving up his rebellion for a woman, but with the twist that in this case the man is 44 and really should have got over this rubbish years ago.
I had never been to the midnight service before -back in the 1980s we'd go down for the 9am one - and though I didn't go down to the pub with the youngsters, we'd had a few drinks and I was tired from the drive and not sure I was going to be able to stay awake. But I was looking forward to singing carols and quietly pleased that I was finally mature enough to see that family was more important than making a petulant stand about my beliefs (or lack of them).
We crowded into the back pew of the church, which seemed much smaller than I remembered. I hadn't been in here for a long time. They had candles up for Christmas on little poles attached to the pews. Various groups of slightly drunk family members rolled in and joined us. Reverend Denman who had rather pompously and austerely led the services back when I was a kid is long gone and has been replaced by the Reverend Rose, who is a lot more fun and also a woman. How times have moved on. Given that I am suspecting that my life is just some kind of sit-com she is reminiscent of the Vicar of Dibley, bubbly and funny and wearing Christmas earrings that flashed as she left the church and talking about Budgens in her sermon (my dad had earlier been bragging to my girlfriend about the improvements at Budgens, so this made us laugh). I joined in with the gentle mockery of my mother as she passed. It was all fun.
But I was sleepy and the service went on for a while and some of it was a bit boring (though a lot more High Church than in my days - there was a strong smell of incense, the Reverend Denman must be spinning in his grave at such popery) and I did fall asleep a couple of times. And I passed the rest of the time by nudging my 22 eyar old nephew and pointing at rude words on the hymn sheet. The first one was "asses". He laughed. I am 44. Then I pointed at "bending". At intervals I would point out others, like "womb" or "virgin". My girlfriend joined in the act, rather classily pointing out "Jesus Christ" which is a swear in another context. Good work. It made the whole thing fun.
I was wearing my Christmas jumper that my nephew had given me, as was he and my dad. Three generations of idiots. This is what it's all about. I guess I was glad I had joined in and gone to church rather than staying home like a grouchy Scrooge.
