The Twelve Posts of Christmas - Day Eight: The Christmas Selection Boxes That Never Lasted Till Boxing Day

 

 

There are certain Christmas traditions that almost everyone who grew up in Britain during the 1960s, 70s or even 80s would experience. 

Let’s start with the once-a-year treat of turkey for Christmas dinner and turkey sandwiches for a week afterwards. Then there was watching the big film on Christmas Day, only ever seen at the cinema before. And once a year, the Radio Times double issue would be bought, and planning for Christmas viewing would begin.

Then there was something that every kid expected — at least one chocolate selection box that would never make it past Boxing Day. 

In many homes, it didn’t even survive Christmas afternoon.

Selection boxes were bright, shiny, and exciting. For adults, they were an easy gift. For children, they were a chocolate-filled treasure.

And for most of us, they were gone within hours.

Although, I have to say, the selection boxes did seem to be a lot bigger back then. Maybe being a child had something to do with that — after all, everything looks bigger when you are a kid. 

But shrinkflation hadn’t been thought of yet. 

The boxes were big and were full of the chocolates everyone loved. A Mars bar, Aero, Kit-Kat, the Crunchie, the Flake, a packet of Buttons, a tube of Smarties and Rolos, to name a few. You would get ten or twelve to a box, and they were all full size — none of this miniature-size, two-bites-and-they-are-gone nonsense.

You can only imagine the sugar high.

I was always convinced that I could pace myself. Every year I’d unwrap the selection boxes and list them from favourites to potential swaps. Inside, the sweets were laid out like jewels: the Flake you could never eat neatly, the Caramel bar that stuck your teeth together, and I was always disappointed if I got a Bounty, because they were difficult to trade. Adults seemed to like them, but they had nothing to swap.

And then there were the negotiations — somehow, I had to offload that Bounty.

The Twelve Posts of Christmas 2025 - Day Seven: When Snow Was Proper Snow

 

Will we have a White Christmas? Where I live, it looks like rain. 

There was a time when I remembered snow at Christmas.

There’s a saying you hear from a certain age group — “We had proper winters back then.” 

It’s usually said after a light dusting of snow causes the entire country to come to a standstill, or the occasional road hasn’t been gritted by the council de-icing trucks. And the telly weather forecaster on 24-hour news gets overexcited about “the possibility of flurries on higher ground”.

Whatever Happened To Snow?

But if you grew up in the 1960s or 70s, you’ll remember that we didn’t need to be warned about flurries. Snow arrived with confidence, and it was expected — the possibility of a white Christmas was high — years before Bing Crosby had told us so. 

Christmas snow was a given. It didn’t tiptoe in overnight like it does now. It marched in, dumped itself in great heaps across every road, garden and playground, and hung around for weeks. It was nice until after a few days it turned to ice, and you spent a week or two looking like a candidate for Britain’s ice skating Winter Olympics team.

Of course, back then, we didn’t have the 24-hour weather news or apps sending red alerts to our phones on the hour. We had the local milkman. I think his name was Stan, whose arrival at the doorstep was the first sign of how serious things were. 

“Cold today, I’ve had to put my gloves on. You won’t need to put these in the fridge.” He said, as the snow fell, covering the top of his hat.

Which was good, because I can’t remember whether we had a fridge back in the 1960s. Many of those mod cons didn’t arrive for us until the 1970s onwards.

Proper Snow

For us, when it snowed, it changed the whole rhythm of life, especially if you were a kid. We wanted snow, as it meant building snowmen and snowball fighting. It was the usual romantic thinking: waking up to a world made soft and silent, other than the crunch of boots on fresh white powder and the breath clouds forming in front of your face. 

The Twelve Posts of Christmas 2025 - Day Five: Shopping like It's The 1970s

It’s Christmas, 2025, but yesterday out shopping, I was reminded of the 1970s. No, it wasn’t the sound of Slade or Wizard singing about Christmas over the tannoy; it was too early for that. I was looking at the prices on the shelf. 

It has become a holiday tradition for certain supermarkets, on this day, Aldi and Lidl, to reduce prices on a number of staple Christmas food items — usually, Christmas dinner.

The prices were at 1970s level.

Potatoes, carrots, sprouts, shallots, parsnips, and turnip were all priced at eight pence. At Lidl, I bought one of each: potatoes, carrots, sprouts and shallots, for thirty-two pence. The receipt told me what the discount was — £3.87.

You would need a time machine to see prices like that.

The UK has been going through a cost of living crisis for some time, and inflation is always there. The longer you live, the more of it you see and remember. Growing up as a young boy in the 1960s and 70s, I saw plenty of inflation. My pocket money, and earnings from the paper round, did not go far. Little changes in that regard, although I gave up delivering newspapers long ago.

So, if you live in the UK and have an Aldi or Lidl nearby, go and get a bargain, and party like it’s 1970!

** An update: I went to my local Lidl this morning (19th Dec), and they have dropped their price to five pence. It's more like shopping in the 1960s now.

And as I left the store, over the tannoy, Noddy Holder and Slade were singing Merry Xmas...

More can be found here: The Twelve Posts of Christmas

 

Image by CrimsonMystique from Pixabay

The Twelve Posts of Christmas 2025 - Day Four: Brussels Sprouts and the Mysterious Christmas Pong

 

 

The Twelve Posts of Christmas 2025 is my festive wander through memories, traditions, mishaps, and moments — from childhood Christmases of the 60s and 70s to the quirks of celebrating today. Think nostalgia sprinkled with humour, a pinch of honesty, and the occasional whiff of Brussels sprouts. 

Let’s unwrap the season, one story at a time.

 

It’s the mid-1970s, the day before Christmas Eve. It’s a typical British winter scene, as I’m trudging through a thin mist that we hope will deliver snow, but more likely it will rain. I’m on my way to the house of the family who was looking after my dog Lisa—a mischievous animal, with a temperament that suggested she was a law unto herself.

As soon as I stepped inside the front room, I was hit by it.

A smell.

Not a strong one, but the kind that creeps up on you — a sort of lingering, unidentifiable pong that is noticeable and doesn’t go away.

Naturally, my first thought was Lisa.

She was sitting in the corner, looking vaguely guilty in that classic canine way. Her ears were slightly down, as was her head, her eyes avoiding mine. If she were a human, her posture would say, “I’d like to speak to my solicitor.”

It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d left an aromatic surprise, but she had been trained to go outside.

Something felt… off.

The Twelve Posts of Christmas - Day Three: 1970s Christmas TV: A Promise of Endless Excitement

 

There was a time, and it wasn’t that long ago, when Christmas television was every bit as exciting as the presents under the tree. It was a family highlight of the year — something to look forward to.

And all of that excitement began with the two sacred texts of television: the Radio Times and the TV Times. As Christmas approached, they arrived at the newsagent's, heavy with festive promise, you could smell the ink on the pages when you opened them.

They were the unofficial start of Christmas in many British households.

What’s In A Name?

The Radio Times was the original British Christmas radio and television listing magazine — how could it not be? Until commercial television and radio came along, there was only the BBC. 

And for a while, it was only radio.

That history and tradition lives on in the name of the magazine, Radio Times. Although, today, and for some time now, the radio has taken a backseat to the world of visual media in the magazine. ‘Television’, in whatever way it is broadcast now — over the air waves, digital, satellite, cable, online or by smartphone, rules the day. 

But it began with radio. The 1940 Radio Times (image above) was all about the radio listings. In those dark, early days of the Second World War, it was the only radio entertainment that people had. 

Then television arrived, slowly at first, but by the 1970s, when Christmas arrived, it gave us everything that the entertainment industry had to offer.

The 1970s Experience—Three Channels, Several Generations, One Living Room.

Christmas telly back then was different. 

With only three channels — BBC1, BBC2 and a regional commercial channel (I think we had ATV) — choice was limited, but the listings had real weight. We did have our own version of ‘doom-scrolling’ the listings magazines to see what was on. You also had to buy both magazines, as each only listed their own TV schedule.

When it came to how we watched, there was no streaming, no catch-up, no play later. Until video came along, if you missed it, you missed it. Forever, or until it was repeated — probably the next Christmas. And television closed down for the evening around midnight, starting up again in the morning.

The fear of missing a favourite show was as real as running out of Quality Street or Cadbury’s Roses on Christmas Day.

Most homes only had the one television — that one source of home entertainment. There was no TV in every room, or parents saying, “Go and watch it on the internet.” There was no, “I’ll watch it on my phone in my room.” 

Christmas became a battleground of television rights, and it could get ugly. There would be ongoing living-room negotiations about what would be watched. The disagreements could rival anything at the United Nations.

“There’s a good film on ATV at the same time. Let’s watch that.”

“BBC1’s got the big Christmas special. We can’t miss it.”

“We have to watch Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em and Blankety Blank.”

“Can we watch Top of the Pops?”

The Twelve Posts of Christmas 2025 - Day One: The Christmas Top 40 And The Number One We Waited All Year For

The Twelve Posts of Christmas 2025 is my festive wander through memories, history, traditions, mishaps and moments — from childhood Christmases of the 60s and 70s to the quirks of celebrating today. Think nostalgia sprinkled with humour, a pinch of honesty, and the occasional whiff of Brussels sprouts. 

Let’s unwrap the season, one story at a time.

 

 

It’s just a few weeks away, but does the Christmas Number One record across the nation still matter?

There was a time in Britain when it was big, and it mattered to a lot of people. It was a national, glittering piece of pop-culture theatre we all gathered around the radio to hear. And, of course, it all happened long before you could tap your phone and know instantly who was selling what. 

There was a time when you had to wait. And wait. And wait.

In the 1960s, 70s and well into the 80s, the race for the Christmas Number One was a proper competition. And there was an annual battle between many artists, bands, and singers every year to produce a Christmas single and be in the top spot.  

The Sunday Before Christmas Countdown

We would find out who was number one with the ‘official’ chart show on the Sunday before Christmas. The ritual was always the same. Early evening, Christmas holidays ahead, or if you had finished school, celebrating already, BBC Radio One, then the countdown would begin. The chart rundown — 40, 39, 38 — each one bringing us closer to the big announcement. 

Who was in the top spot? Who had missed out? Which act, for better or worse, would forever be remembered as the Christmas Number One? Their name etched into British pop-culture immortality.

The Giants of Christmas Past

Everyone has a favourite Christmas Number One. 

For some of a certain age, it might be Cliff Richard. He seemed to always have a Christmas single out, and often still does. In 1960, with The Shadows, he was number one with I Love You. As a solo artist, he had to wait until 1988, when Mistletoe and Wine hit the top spot. This year, glam rockers The Darkness have covered it, hoping to hit the top spot.

Is it possible that in the 1950s, the first Christmas-type song to top the charts was Winifred Atwell, with Let’s Have Another Party in 1954? The next year, it was definitely a Christmas song, Christmas Alphabet, by Dickie Valentine.

Christmas Comes But Once a Year — But Does It Have to Start in November? Or Even Earlier?

I nipped into my local ASDA yesterday and was greeted — actually, I was ambushed — by their Grinch-inspired Christmas extravaganza plastered across the entrance. And apparently I’m already behind the times: the whole thing kicked off on the first of November. 

In true modern fashion, there’s even a YouTube video to usher us into the season of goodwill and maximum spending.

Here it is:

It’s all very commercial, of course. But then, that’s what Christmas has become — a festive excuse to flog as much stuff as possible. Step past the cheery Grinch, and you’re immediately confronted by neat piles of chocolates in “tins.” 

Except they’re not tins any more, are they? They’re round plastic containers, half the size of the tins from my youth. At least, it feels that way. I remember those big tins; you could make your own drum set out of them, and we did.

A fine example of shrinkflation wrapped in festive plastic.

And let’s be honest: anything bought in early November labelled “Christmas chocolates” will never survive until Christmas. I can already hear the household negotiations:

“Mum, can I have a chocolate? Just one.”

The child eyes up the container like a pirate sizing up treasure.

“No.”

“Why not? I only want one!”

“Because they’re for Christmas, that’s why.”

Of course, one eventually gets eaten, then another… Then everyone joins in, and the plastic tub is empty by the weekend. The shop makes another sale, the cycle repeats, and Christmas creeps ever earlier.

I suppose this makes me a bit of a Grinch myself. I refuse to get involved so early — it’s simply too soon. And besides, I haven’t yet heard Noddy Holder yelling “It’s Christmassssss…!” across a supermarket PA system. Until that happens, it’s definitely not Christmas.

The Twelve Posts of Christmas...Day Eight. There is No Boxing on Boxing Day.

When I was a lad, I would wonder why Boxing Day was called Boxing Day? 

No one in my family had an answer to it. 

I came to what I thought was a logical conclusion at the time that it must be named after the sport of boxing. But I also wondered why it was that on Boxing Day there was actually no boxing on the television. Not only that, but I would just be laughed at if I asked what time the boxing was on.

Then one day at senior school, in England a Secondary Modern, I was in the library, but not because as a young teenager I had any great interest in books at that age. No, the librarian was a rather attractive German lady, who had short blond hair which may or may not have been natural. She also wore short dresses, the mini skirt being quite popular back then. 

The library was often quite busy when she was on duty. 

On this day, I plucked up the courage to ask her the Christmas question that had been on my mind. Well, it was on my mind every Christmastime. 

The conversation went something like this.

“Miss, can you tell me why Boxing Day is called Boxing Day?”

She gave a friendly smile, got up out of her chair and said, “follow me.”

How could I refuse?

The Twelve Posts of Christmas: Day Six. Working For the Man.

My first job, other than doing errands and helping out at home for pocket money, was a paper round.

I remember the cold dark nights and early Sunday mornings, out in all weather delivering to even darker places. The bag of papers could weigh a ton. I've no idea how I managed to stay on the bike.

Then during my final school year, I got a real job at a working men's club. Just like this one.

My job? I can't remember the job title, but it was working as a glass washer and general dogsbody in the main concert hall bar. I mostly worked weekends when it was really busy and a little rowdy at times. I must have been earning at least 70 new pence an hour. I'd never had so much money.

It paid more than the paper round.

At the end of each weekend shift, I even got a payslip similar to this one. I was too young to pay tax, but I doubt I was earning enough anyway.

Which meant I could do more than just look at things in my local toy shop, although by then I was a little too old for toys

In reality, I was never a big spender, but it did help me buy one of these.

 

The TV was black and white, had a very small screen, and had an indoor aerial that was not always reliable. 

I think I bought it from Comet.

Thanks for reading!

The Twelve Posts of Christmas: Day Two. A Load of Rubbish

Back in the 1960s and 70s, every house in Britain had one (at least) of these. 

The tin rubbish bin. This was long before recycling and different bins collected on different dates. Everything went into this one bin, and it was small. It would be collected every week and occasionally would go missing. Sometimes there would be a heated argument between neighbours if they picked up your bin, which just happened to be newer or shinier. 

The Twelve Posts of Christmas: A Bit of Television Nostalgia.

Well, this will be ambitious. I came up with this idea, a blog variation on the twelve days of Christmas, ambitiously called the twelve posts of Christmas. Ambitious because so far I think the most number of posts that I have done in any month is five. I will have to see how it goes.

So, here's the first one.

The Christmas Radio Times seems to be a tradition for many households. It gets bought even if no one reads it. Here is a selection over the years.

1940. 

With Hitler planning his invasion of Britain, which thankfully never happened, The BBC offered its Christmas Radio Times for two old pence.

1957.

Seventeen years later, and the price had increased by a penny.