by Keith Stewart

Forget all that goodwill to all men stuff. Apart from its obvious sexism, it misses the whole point about Christmas, the Christian takeover of the ancient midwinter festival that celebrated sensory indulgence. This is the time for eating and drinking and monoevering your pants' desire under the mistletoe.

Christmas is the point of no return, or at least that was so in northern climes whence our pale tipuna originated: the heart of the season of negative fruitfulness when hunters were happy to return home with a skinny squirrel. What families had stored up during autumn was all that they had, and precisely half way through the sterile winter they knew if it would last 'til spring.

So, now was the time of celebrating survival for another year, for eating what the storekeepers assessed was surplus to requirements. Time for a feast in the midst of months of careful consumption. So let us get into that ancient spirit of celebrating life by eating what we fancy, indulging in whatever abundance we can afford, and sharing our joy at surviving another year with our families.

Bring on the glistening turkeys, aromatic hams, mince pies, new potatoes wreathed in fresh mint, wild souled fruit cakes and steep them in Chardonnay, well matured port, Champagne and Pinot. Share gifts with those you love as our distant ancestors gave the whitlings of deer antlers they had passed the winter with.

And finally, engage the spirit of the Green Man, that deity who energises our lives with the spark of life in everything that is green. The spirit who is life itself, and can be found for us in the ditillation of life that is the bottled spirit of fruit and grain. That ultimate toast to the Green fellow, a glass of single malt whisky, is redolent of everything this season means, as well as its roots in that Highland home that flickers in the shared memories of so many New Zealanders.

Or if your ancestors were French, or English from south of York, there is always Cognac. And there is schnapps for those with Dutch or German heritage, but most would favour whisky as the universal grand spirit of this season and indeed, of the whole world.

Whisky that is the soul of what we yearn for; of wild open spaces, fresh air, clear, pure, water, and the dignity of human craft. They say that being close to God burns humans. Well, perhaps that is why drinking a good whisky burns just a little.

Here's to Christmas. Eat, drink and be merry, for in the never ending tomorrow we surely die.