Name: Gavin Ritchie

Age: 45

Lives: Sydney

Turning point: My parents separating when I was 10 months old

After housing costs has to live on: $306 a week

For most of my life I’ve been a complete mess at this time of year. It’s coming up to the extremely pointy end of the calendar – the silly season or the sickening season, depending on your perspective. I’m talking about Christmas. The time of year when giving is supposed to be the spirit, but getting is central focus for most.



I can remember as a child being so excited about the impending arrival of Santa Claus that it resulted in a major case of acute insomnia. Those were the days when all that mattered was being on the nice list as opposed to nasty. My brothers and I would be up at sparrow’s fart to unceremoniously tear wrapping paper off our presents in a feral festive tizz. Time and reality has jaded my heart and these days I am more Ebenezer than enthusiastic about the whole thing.



To a 45-year old underprivileged man who couchsurfs and has lived in 32 different suburbs in 25 years, Christmas has become a vile display of commercialism and capitalist boasting. Parents compete with other parents by spending outrageous amounts of hard-earned money on scurrilously overpriced rubbish as a way to prove that they love their spawn more than the next.

Copious amounts of alcohol are consumed at family gatherings, which of course only results in somebody being upset. I had one uncle who without fail would get a tad tipsy and vulgar. This would make his wife unhappy and my brother and sister-in-law exit early due to being offended. Of course I loved the whole thing. It made having family worthwhile. But alas he is no longer with us and therefore family gatherings simply suck.



A couple of weeks ago I was feeling quite chuffed upon the realisation that my niece and nephews are too old to get presents from uncle Gavin. More money for myself, I thought, but then I realised I now have six great-nieces and nephews to carry on the tradition of breaking my bank. Joy to the world. But children really do make Christmas worthy of our time. We make it work for them and them alone. Their childlike enthusiasm lights up the world – at least, for one day.



Five years ago I found joy in a different place – I stumbled on an event by accident. I was going to visit a friend in Potts Point on Christmas Day and passed a street full of people in full-tilt merriment. I’ll come back when finished with my visit, I thought.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Photograph: Carly Earl/The Guardian

I returned soon after and sat in stunned amazement for three hours at the Wayside Chapel’s street party. It was one of the most moving experiences in my lifetime. Love was in action in every direction. I was being offered food and drink by happy servants as I watched the everyday riff-raff from Kings Cross smiling, laughing, dancing, eating, drinking and loving one another and I thought “this is what it is about”. Love is something that doesn’t have a dollar value and it was present in abundance.



I have returned to the same event now three times since that day. I have revelled in the pure joy of the gathering and it has reinvigorated my excitement about Christmas. Finally I have a very real reason to count down the days till Christmas Day. A genuine reason. I can barely contain myself as I anticipate the absolute joy I know I will experience again this year.

After my second street party I was talking to my brother on the phone on Boxing Day and he asked what I did for Christmas. I told him I attended the Wayside Chapel’s street party in Kings Cross. He asked me how it was, to which I simply replied, “No disrespect intended but it was the best Christmas I have ever had. It’s not about money or competing, it’s about love. That is all.”