‘My happy waifs-and-strays Christmas’
In my 30s and early 40s, I dreaded Christmas. Once again, I’d be forced to take stock of my ‘achievements’ that year – precarious job, mounting debts, no partner. I’d take the train journey home to my parents’ house (to stay in my convent-like teenage bedroom) on Christmas Eve and vow to change my life. That is, until I turned 45 and met Helen.
I was at a party in Marylebone full of young designers – and at 11pm, a blonde woman dramatically bowled in. She lived nearby and had gatecrashed, insisting the noise made it impossible to sleep.
To my amazement, she walked straight up to me. ‘You look as if you’re over 38, and have something to say for yourself,’ she said. That was it, we were off.
We talked and danced, then retired for a nightcap at her basement flat (with her husband Jon and toddler daughter Mia sleeping soundly) and put the world to rights about Princess Diana and third-wave feminism.
At 2am, as I hailed a taxi, she asked, ‘What are you doing for Christmas? We’re having a waifs-and-strays party. Why don’t you come?’
An eclectic mix of singletons, cool gay men, female vicars, lonely Polish builders, widowers, you name it
It turned out she worked in the music industry and, every year, she and Jon threw open their doors to an eclectic mix of singletons, cool gay men, female vicars, lonely Polish builders, widowers, you name it. ‘We’re quite a small family unit and we like company,’ she explained.
That first Christmas, I was terribly nervous. I remember walking from Peckham across Westminster Bridge, with bottles and artisan cheeses, hoping I’d make enough small talk. I needn’t have worried.
I arrived to find Jon in the kitchen preparing a vegetarian wellington and turkey, and Helen handing out canapés (‘I’m a feeder, darling’) in her dining room, which was wall-to-wall White Company with glitter and decorations. The Sounds of the 80s CD was on repeat. There was karaoke, board games and everyone had a thoughtfully chosen present.
A decade on, we still spend most Christmases together. My mum is very tolerant that I’ve found an alternative way of celebrating. We all have pre-Christmas catch-ups with our respective parents and siblings the weekend before, then on the 25th we descend on Helen’s flat for lunch, until 8pm sharp, when she chucks us out and we Uber it home for a night of rubbish telly. Bliss.
One of my fondest memories is the year a friend’s mother joined us when she was in the last stages of a terminal illness, and was blissed out on medication. It should have been very painful, but it was life-affirming to see the care everyone took with her.
The best experience day Christmas presents and gift vouchers for 2017
There have been challenging moments too, like the Christmas we all had such bad flu we could hardly speak, and the time Helen got me so drunk on clementinis (martini’s more potent sister) that I got locked in the bathroom.
Helen’s daughter Mia is 14 now, and rolls her eyes at our love affair with booze and our lame presents. (Apparently Gen Z don’t do colouring books.) The rest of the year, some of us meet up now and then – there are occasional Sunday lunches and bank-holiday gatherings.
But on 25 December, when the usual crew pile into Helen’s flat, it’s as though we saw each other yesterday – and it’s always great to meet newcomers too.
Sometimes, one of us will bring a new partner, though if they never appear again, the other guests are too tactful to mention it. And you know what, I don’t care if I don’t have a boyfriend or husband at my side.
Yes, we all miss our relatives on the day, but I love mixing it up, getting out of my comfort zone and embracing being one of the waifs and strays. Now I have a festive family I love – and I wouldn’t spend Christmas Day any other way.