“I must go out and purchase some Easter Bunny bunting immediately!” is a sentence I have never said and never want to hear you say.
You do NOT need Easter bunting. Nor do you need to get a twig from the garden, stick it in a jam jar and hang home-made papier-mache eggs off it. You also do not need to spend yonks fashioning napkins into darling bunny shapes for the ‘Easter Table’. Also: YOU DO NOT NEED AN EASTER TABLE.
If turning your house into a multi-coloured, egg-infested Easter grotto brings you genuine pleasure, then Grandmother, I am sorry for teaching you to suck eggs. If you honestly will experience a joyful fizz each time you cast your eyes over the £29.99 golden egg centre-piece display you’ve plonked in the middle of your kitchen table, surrounded by chicks nestling in straw baskets which you created with your children or at least let them watch, then who am I to rain on your Easter parade?
If, however, you have one eye on your daffodil tablecloth and the other on how marvellous it will look on social media, I am here to tell you, to PROMISE you, that WE DO NOT NEED TO SEE YOUR EASTER.
Easter is about death. Then resurrection. Eggs are involved now, but an egg is not a symbol of anything meaningful. It is just an egg out of which a chick may hatch so that it may grow so that we may murder it and eat it on Easter Sunday. Or we might festively get hold of one of those innocent, frolicking spring lambs, roast it and serve it up with a bit of mint sauce and tell the kids it’s NOT like the cute lambs in the fields; this is a NAUGHTY lamb…
The egg can only become an object of adoration when it is made of chocolate, in which case it is a curiously pleasing shape to get your teeth into. But please remember, we all know what an Easter egg looks like. We do not need to see your carefully curated tableau of chocolate eggs on instagram.
Hiding small chocolate eggs for your children can be properly fun provided they’re not hunting alongside squillions of other kids in a gigantic organised orgy of competitive grabbing at a National Trust property. And again, we all know what an Easter egg hunt looks like. Please do NOT share.
All you need to do this weekend, if you’re not into Jesus, is relax. Maybe wake up on Bad Friday and thank him for the extra days off work, but otherwise, Easter-wise, there’s nothing for you here. Unless you are under the influence of the Consumer Gods (supermarkets) and the Bullshit Bandits (social media platforms).
The light is brighter, maybe walk around in it a bit. The daffs are out, maybe cast your eyes over their shades of cream to tangerine, their sizes of mini to triffid. If you have family, maybe spend a while with them – they’re usually better-behaved in better weather, more attractive-looking in spring sunshine.
I will spend the weekend with eldest’s face periodically stuck up in my own so that I may assess the tragedy that is the latest invisible blemish on her face. Alongside this I will be enduring the constant soundtrack of youngest repeating car models and driving speeds. I will not be sharing these unfestive experiences on facebook, though if eldest manages to grow a blemish which is able to be seen by the naked eye, you will be the first to know.
To conclude this informative How-To Guide, let me remind you that the only Easter-related pictures we want to see this weekend are if one of your kids vomits pure Cadbury on Grandma’s head or if your dog gets a mini egg stuck up its arse.
Happy Easter guys!