“Gary, you’re on cracker duty, okay?”
Got it. I headed to the supermarket and purchased boxes of crackers. “Too easy” as they say here in Australia. It’s one of the “dingo lingo” phrases I’ve picked up in the decade I’ve lived here as a Brit.
“Have you got enough crackers for the 15 people who are now coming?”
I did not. I returned to the supermarket for further boxes of crackers.
On Christmas morning, I laid out all the crackers I’d bought, which I assumed were for snacks ahead of Christmas lunch.
“Where’s the cheese?” I asked.
My friend looked aghast at the boxes and boxes of savoury crackers piled up high like an edible Jenga.
“Gary!” he said. “Not savoury crackers! Christmas crackers!”
That year, all my Christmas orphans went without the delightful grab-snap-pop of the traditional Christmas cracker. They were treated, instead, to the story I just shared, told over and over till I could be mortified no more. I had dry crackers for dinner for months afterwards.
One of the many delights of an “orphan’s Christmas” is that old traditions are subverted, replaced with new or adopted traditions from the home countries of our guests.
Author Gary Nunn (right) with friends at their orphan's Christmas. Source: Supplied
Deepak and her mum bring traditional Indian snacks: samosa and pakora. This year my Maltese friend Monica has offered to make imqarrun il-forn (a type of baked pasta). There’s always at least one classic British trifle and plenty of vegetarian options. Along with a traditional turkey, we’ll be spoilt for choice.
My flatmate John and I are about to host our 10th orphan’s Christmas. Most of us aren’t actual orphans; we’re just away from our home countries. It’s for all the migrants and immigrants who have nowhere else to go on Christmas Day because their Aussie friends spend it with their families.
We decamped to my and John’s place, fired up the oven and cranked up the Spice Girls. A new tradition was born
It started completely by accident. I put my hand up to host Christmas 10 years ago as an emergency plan B. We’d planned to have a big Christmas picnic in the park, but it absolutely chucked down. We decamped to my and John’s place, fired up the oven and cranked up the Spice Girls. A new tradition was born.
That impromptu playing of the Spice Girls has endured, because it’s them, not Mariah, who remind me of a happy British Christmas. Each year, I play their first two albums back-to-back before we start FaceTiming our families back home.
The Spice Girls had three consecutive Christmas number ones from 1996 to 1998 and did a banging cover of “Christmas Wrapping”. Those were the years when Christmas still held a magic childlike sparkle for me.
I wasn’t always such a Christmas zealot. In my early 20s, I started becoming a scrooge. Christmas became a time of increased loneliness, anxiety and stress. But moving to Australia helped chill me the eff out.
On our second orphan’s Christmas (and first official planned one), I pre-warned all my mates not to expect my usual energy, as Christmas was often a maudlin time for me.
Christmas lunch with friends before the dancing begins (flatmate John wears the white antlers on the right). Source: Supplied
They’ve never let me forget that two of them had to physically carry me to bed at 4am. I was crying: “It’s not over! Christmas is not over!”
As much as I adore and am grateful for my family back home, there’s a different energy and vibe to an orphan’s Christmas. For starters, you don’t really have to behave! It’s the highlight of my year as I get to be with my chosen family. Growing up as a gay person, it felt like half the world was against me. So having a chosen family is important – I need all the family I can get. I see the Spice Girls as my five older sisters. At Christmas, I’ve been known to share out my (many) Spice Girls T-shirts to attendees. The fancy dress box always comes out, and at some point I’ll drag up.
We usually have about 15 to 20 people for Christmas lunch. We have to borrow chairs, and the tables stretch out onto the balcony. We do an “evil Secret Santa” (where you can steal someone else’s gift after opening yours), and at some point I encourage everybody to dance the nutbush (to the tune of “Nutbush City Limits” by Tina Turner) to help us battle the post-lunch slump. One by one, people start joining in. Deepak’s mum wants us to do bhangra this year, straight after the nutbush.
In the evening, more people arrive for a party, so we have up to 30 people in our flat, many of whom I don’t know as they’re friends of friends. I believe that nobody should be alone at Christmas if they don’t want to be. I don’t need to have met you; if you have nowhere to go and want to do something fun, you’re very welcome at mine.
Deepak and her mother are regular guests. Source: Supplied
Even though I’m secular and agnostic, my orphan’s Christmas tradition is actually inspired by the “no room at the inn” Mary/Joseph Nativity story. To me, the real meaning of Christmas is belonging, togetherness, connection and an open door for anyone who wants it. There’ll always be room at our humble inn.
Gary Nunn is an author and journalist. Find him on Twitter:
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