Confession – I do love corny a Christmas commercial. Despite their mercenary motivation, they bring back memories of daylight saving and summer pyjamas, the smell of radiatta pine, jacaranda’s blooms, carols by candle light, and the early Christmas morning santa-shrieks of delight. It’s absurd really; they are only trying to sell something. This year I need that kind of comfort.
I saw the John Lewis ad as the Trump debacle was unfolding. We’d received some bad news about my mother’s health and after a sober family meeting, the John Lewis ad made us all laugh.
This time last year I was in the northern hemisphere enjoying my first English Christmas since childhood. Mince pies, puddings, mulled wine, Christmas lights, the Queen’s speech, board games and rugged-up walks in the park all made sense in those short, dark days of winter. We do things differently down under. It was one of my emigrant mother’s hardest adjustments, singing jingle bells in the summer sun. I’m not sure what Ronan Keating has to do with Air New Zealand but I guess that’s the making money part of the equation.
The commercial purpose of this final ad is so subtle, I’m still not sure what they are selling. But it made me cry and I was sitting in a cafe. You see we’d just found out my mother is dying. This will be her final Christmas. I’m not sure what the next few months will look like. Only that they will be a sacred time in our family life. So if things go a bit quiet on my blog, you’ll understand why.