Cork Christmas – The Park

They had – in all the wisdom of a D’Unbelievables commit-TEE – hired the wedding planner to do the job. To festoon the park in lights and glitter, to construct a family-friendly winter wonderland in a park normally populated by emos and winos.

It should have come as little surprise then, having seen his television show, that it would become a hellish Disney meets Vegas version of Christmas. The pathway is lit by garish purple fairy lights – hundreds of them – casting an unhealthy glow on everyone walking through. Small elf houses litter the park as post-boxes for Santa while – inexplicably – Peter Pan and Tinkerbell run around entertaining (but usually scaring) children. Apparently they work for Santa, though I don’t remember that ever being mentioned in the book. Perhaps all the Santa costumes had already been hired. A machine, only barely hidden in the bare branches of one of the thin trees, sprays foam in a poor attempt at snow. But worst of all, speakers hanging from every tree blast out a playlist of only three songs on repeat. They sound as if they’ve been lifted from sub-Disney animated movies, sickeningly saccharine and bland in their Americanism. Only one is an actual Christmas song – a chipmunks (honest to god) and girl version of ‘It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year’. The other two are simply vapid songs about being nice. Or something. One can’t help but wonder what Christmas is like in his house.

Outside the park is a Christmas market with stalls of hot food and craft gifts. Out here it feels more like Christmas – the smells and sights are right: happy faces and tantalising aromas. But the muzak from the park pours out onto the street – an unwelcome intruder.

Then, as I’m eating my organic hot sausage in a roll, I look up and see some of the foam swirling in the breeze by the street light. Out here, away from the spewing machine, the ‘snow’ looks almost real – delicate and fleeting. And I try to block out the din for a minute and just look around me. At the young couple bumping into their friends, all smiles and handshakes. At the children in little Santa hats and their exasperated mother. At the really pretty girl with the dark hair and bright eyes sipping her hot chocolate.  Around them, slight flecks of snow-like foam whirl and I get a flush of that Christmassy feeling.

Because if you’re going to do Christmas saccharine, you don’t need purple lights and Peter Pan. But a little fake snow can help.