Customs

Tradition has it that Greek television will feature at least 4 channels of public and private television dedicated to 'fun' for 3 days each Christmas.
This is as important as wrapping your presents, wearing socks and wishing 'Happy Christmas' to all of you not familiar with this.

Sitting round the table, roughly around 30 over-middle-aged local celebrities. Some identifiable as traditional singers or oldschool sitcom 'actors'. They have wine and heavy flowery decorations sat in front of them and the camera zooms from guest to guest.
Then, next to the stage a band. Slightly raised on a platform, semi-circular so you can see all of them. In front, two or three wooden chairs with some microphone stands. For the singers and their friends to perform. On the other side of the stage, a grand piano (always black and spotless) with the kitchest Christmassy flower arrangement on it, and a few thick ribbons, wrapping it up like a preset.
The host speaks and asks questions nobody cares about, regarding memories of the guests, sometimes theme-appropriate, sometimes totally irrelevant. And when you think you've heard it all and are happy to die from experiencing boredom to its full extent in life, you realise that no- the SINGING has not even started.

Old school songs from sad films, to well-respected pained poetry, war, poverty, happiness, famous 20s foreign songs (only half of it sung, and sped up doubly to prevent audience boredom and wrong lyric performance). The key is 'moving'. The camera zooms in the shiny wet eyes of various guests. The guests will each take it in turns to sing. Alone if confident, with the paid singer leading, if modest.

And finally the lip sync is announced. For the rest of the of the programme (lasts 4 hours) the orgy of fun will be all about the mouthing of words, looking moved, off camera out of the frame melancholy of the beloved childhood memories of your now deceased aunties pinching your cheeks. Coupled with sparkly black outfits around a table, traditional musical instruments and even more fake Christmas flowers, this is for any Greek person the traditional sign it is time to start arguing with your relatives, applying too much makeup on your unslept face and suppressing your funfunfunpartyparty yawns for fear that the few superstitious amongst your guests will start on the jinx and evil eye you've been a victim of and start mock-spitting on you to cure this.

Happy Christmas etc etc.

how dare I

be so deeply sad. For these incredibly selfish and adolescent reasons all to do with me.

How dare I impose my 'superior' expectations and in effect demand different living standards and arrangements for people other than my own self? And how dare I allow my self to break down in front of them, in such an unacceptable display of disapproval and shock and contempt?

Someone please take this right away from me. And also maybe slap me with a kipper.
I don't want this. Bring back suppessed disciplined respect. Just for another week, before i ruin everything, hurt them all and not-spontaneosly-at-all combust in a last attempt for ash-rebirth not realising I'm not a phoenix by any stretch of imagination.

Three gunshots outside my window. Only 2 hours left before dark. sleeping on a cold hard surface and failing at faking any sort of smile for the benefit of those i love the most and literally live for. Bummer..