Sarah Harte: High notions at Christmas can end in tears...or in the back of a squad car

The queen of high notions, Anna Wintour, never stays at a party longer than 20 minutes, which would probably be considered a bit rude here. File picture 

Christmas is coming, and the goose is getting fat. We substitute goose for turkey in this country unless you’re German or have high notions.

There’s nothing wrong with high notions. Why should we accept the lowest common denominator as being the gold standard? Plus, others’ high notions are good for a laugh.

I harboured quite a few Christmassy high notions myself over the years because, at one point, I was determined to put on the best Christmas ever, as if it were some Yuletide competition.

Up until the small hours, setting tables, placing card names, arranging foliage, piling up satsumas in a bowl, fretting about one candle or more (such big decisions), consulting the long bullet-pointed list tacked to the wall (I caught a family member laughing at it, with another guest saying "didn’t I always say she was autistic?") before grabbing a quick sleep like a bat.

Then back up again, produce a special Christmassy brunch, look perfect, then turn around, and serve the perfect dinner, and wash up again. 

Later, when guests had gone, I raced around the place with a J-cloth in my hand and a bottle of detergent in the other hand, muttering, with a manic look in my eye, only to collapse into a chair like a high-heeled donkey against a background of Edith Piaf. 

I always found her a comfort at Christmas: Non, je ne regrette rien. You get the picture.

As someone who has either let her standards drop or gotten a hefty dose of reality, I can tell you from experience that this high notions at all costs approach typically ends badly at Christmas.

Cue one Christmas Eve, believing I was alone, I tearfully kicked the broken dishwasher (terrible timing for the chef/kitchen porter/washer-up, namely me) with a Tom Ford-clad shod foot. 

To my horror, I heard a small voice, with a lot more emotional intelligence than I had, appearing like a sage, adorable ghost of Christmas and said: “Maybe if you didn’t reach for the stars, it might be better.” Cue massive maternal shame.

'I’m slated to meet for a Christmas sandwich next week, from which I will be driving home.'

For several years now, my approach to Christmas has been markedly work-oriented and anti-social. So far this December, I have attended one work Christmas party and driven home. 

I’m slated to meet for a Christmas sandwich next week, from which I will also be driving home.

This has left me time to peruse the etiquette tips from the smart set in the weekend supplements of Irish, English, and American newspapers, with a few magazines thrown in on how to get through the social whirl that is Christmas. I have collated them and added a few of my own.

The advantage for you, social butterfly reader of this column, is that you can benefit from my couch-potato ways and party confidently, passing off third-hand etiquette tips as your own.

As a guest

First, you should know that Anna Wintour, editorial director of Vogue (powerful fashionista twiglet with a sharp bob, dark sunglasses, and an expression that would turn milk sour), never stays at a party for more than 20 minutes. So do bear that in mind even if you are living in Killeagh, Union Hall, Caherciveen, Rathmines or Broadford. If it’s good enough for Anna Wintour, etc.

According to another tip, you should leave no later than 30 minutes after the main meal has been served. I’m a little doubtful about this one. If a guest of mine upped and left half an hour after the main course had been served, I would assume I had food-poisoned them and that they were departing for the comfort of their own loo.

Other tips include petting the dog. I remember one Christmas cowering in a loo because a dog that looked the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a wolf was growling menacingly outside. He took a malevolent shine to me. 

Much later, the hosts admitted that they had been forced to send him to the Big Kennel in the Sky because he took to attacking people and anything that moved. So, all I’m saying is exercise discretion here.

To arm yourself against nosy questions, be ready to pivot to another subject. Yes, and no. If you’re in the middle of a mini-scandal or tough time in your life, I say control the narrative. 

My tip is to get the worst things in your life out in the open. Everyone knows them anyway this being Ireland, and it’s what the questioner is sidling up to. Round off with a mega-watt smile. “Other than that, I’m super. Thanks for asking. Et tu, Brute?” 

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Bring your best Positive Peadar or Positive Pádraigín self to the party. This precludes cornering the host or their guests and using them as free therapists as you bitch for Ireland about your crazy boss, problematic ex or challenging family members with whom you are now about to be incarcerated for Christmas. 

Sage advice: Don’t be the last ‘man’ standing. Obviously, ignore this one. You know where your duty lies, breaking into I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day on repeat and doing the backing harmonies, yourself too.

At a work party 

This gem comes from a glamorous columnist who leads a London life. She says that shaking hands comes across as a middle manager and ‘dweeby’. 

She suggests going in for a power hug. I must confess, in a post-covid landscape, the idea is disconcerting, not simply from a germophobic perspective. Sure, look, I’m out of touch. But unless you’re living in London, factor in that it might give Rónán from accounts ideas.

A countermove from a different expert to avoid an unwelcome embrace (I like this tip) is to extend your right arm in a handgun style, plant your right leg as if taking a large step, and give a keep-your-distance, get-the-Sam’s-hell-away-from-me handshake. 

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, power hugger.

As a hostess

This tip is to give guests a job, including the distinctly odd task of peeling grapes. The rationale is to make them feel welcome, which is thoughtful. 

Now I will say, in my party-going days, I would have been resentful to have been given a job bar clearing a few plates or topping up a few drinks, and I would have drawn the line at peeling grapes. 

According to my googling, it might be a Japanese cultural norm for showing affection. An aside to guests: If you see a bunch of grapes, don’t wait to be asked, find a knife and get peeling. 

However, in certain parts of the country, don’t be surprised if you get taken home, they use a stun gun, or there is a family intervention.

Should the party be a family one, arrange seating to keep potential drama at bay. It never hurts to be optimistic.

Look, there are contrasting ways, both ancient and modern, high-low, to celebrate Christmas. 

My personal tip (I know of one case where this proved a stretch) is to make it through the festive season without getting taken away in the back of a squad car. 

Always a downer for everyone.