Joe Marler lifts the lid on his favourite Christmas songs, traditions and memories as former England star embraces the festive spirit and takes a trip to Lapland

People are singing Christmas carols. Personally, I’m a fan. I believe they can explain every element of the festive season. So let’s do it.

Do I wish it could be Christmas every day? I enjoy this time of year. I enjoy choosing good gifts. I’ve been to schools and daycares dressed as Santa Claus, and my post-retirement belly size has given my performance an authenticity that previous years lacked.

Despite all this, the answer for me is an unequivocal no. Imagine the scene in the Marler household on Boxing Day evening. The presents have been opened. I built the gymnastics high beam for my eldest daughter. I tried it and fell off. I built the unicorn scooter for my youngest daughter and have been smart enough to realize that if I try too, there won’t be a unicorn scooter left for someone else to fall off.

But it is an almost silent night. The kids have come down from their sugar high and gone to bed. Some of them are even asleep, which hopefully means they can’t hear the strange noises coming from their parents in the lounge. Wait a minute, what’s going on here? Does Mom kiss Santa Claus? No, she helps him launch the Christmas tree out the window, that’s what happens.

We were all done with it. The decorations were back in the boxes, the lights went out and the tree was on its way to the patio. All good, except the tree was a really poor tree, and when it was defended (full disclosure, I had help from Daisy with this word), it dropped every needle in its arsenal on the living room floor. Which led to a charming new Christmas tradition the next morning: the whole family on their hands and knees plucking thousands of dead pine needles from the carpet.

Conclusion: Christmas in one day is totally fine. Christmas every day would lead to debt, crying, and anyone with the same build as a prop who stopped going to the gym before the first Christmas lights even came on. Keeping in mind that when I look in the full-length mirror the moment I see a melted trash can looking back at me, this is not a good thing. Okay. Last Christmas. Huge tune. Mixed memories for me: I was preparing with my Harlequins teammates for the Big Game against Gloucester at Twickenham. Definitely a different atmosphere than George Michael.

The former England star honestly admitted that his retirement came at a good time in his life

He opened up about the chaotic joys of Christmas in the Marler household with his four children

Did I give it my heart? Only partially. The Big Game is a wonderful tradition. Twickenham is different than usual, and that’s okay. But I didn’t really fancy spending more time with Joe Launchbury and Danny Care than with my non-rugby family, so I booked us all into an Airbnb in south-west London to try and bring it all together.

It was only a partial success. I know there won’t be much sympathy for a professional rugby player at Christmas; Sure, you miss a special day with your loved ones, but you get paid to exercise and you get paid well enough to make many more days special.

I was still tempted to get sick. It’s a bit Scroogey, I admit. Perhaps retirement has come at the right time. The same goes for East 17’s Stay Another Day. Not having played this Christmas has meant I’ve watched more rugby matches than ever before, and not just Leicester Tigers, so I can watch Dan Cole trotting on.

But I don’t wish I had stayed another day, a week or a month longer. Instead, I enjoyed watching. I enjoy coming up with ideas on how we can make our sport even more fun to watch. I might even put together a future Mail Sport column on this subject. Watch this space.

On to the big one. Do they know it’s Christmas? This is a big question for me, and I’m not sure anyone has ever answered it to my satisfaction.

First things first. Who exactly do we define as ‘they’? If we take the ethos of the original Band Aid single and assume it’s the people of Ethiopia, that’s a yes for me – not just because of the efforts of Sir Bob Geldof and the rest of the crew, but also because of the long tradition of Christian thought. in that part of East Africa.

In addition, there are approximately 8.5 billion people on our planet. How many of them know it’s Christmas? Now it gets harder. People of other faiths know about Christmas, even if they don’t celebrate it. I’m told that in Japan they celebrate the day by going out and buying a big bucket of KFC, which is the kind of idea that any front row frontman can get their head around.

But what about isolated tribes in parts of the world less affected by our seasonal consumption frenzy? Certainly, a Christian missionary could have brought the message to these distant lands. But do they really know Christmas like we do? Are they cladding the porches of their homes with icicle lights purchased from the nearest home improvement store? Do they build unicorn scooters? Do they launch trees out of the living room windows?

The 34-year-old ended his career in November after fifteen years as a professional

It’s a difficult issue, and something I’d like to think about more. But I can tell you one group that knows for sure it’s Christmas: all those fat cats at the RFU who handed out huge bonuses this year, after telling us players during Covid that we were all in this together, and then deciding to keeping players informed of cuts while paying for themselves. They don’t need Christmas every day. That’s already true.

On to Dean Martin. Deano made his position clear: he wanted to make it snow. I’ll go with him, on one condition: it snows well. Not this nonsense, half snow, half rain, nonsense, where it hangs around for half a day and then turns into brown mush. I want good snow. The kind that means you can’t leave the house. The kind where the branches come down and you eat slices of canned tangerine for breakfast.

This year, thanks to a lovely lady called Amy at the tour operator Aurora Zone, I had the opportunity for the trip of a lifetime: taking the kids to Lapland just before the big day itself. It was incredible. The depth of the snow! The sound of your feet crunching through it! The sound of my children laughing as they watched the poor reindeer at the front of my sleigh trying to get us up the slightest slope!

But this world of ours doesn’t stand still for anyone, so before we raise a glass to each other, a few thoughts forward and back. My rugby highlight of the year? An easy one: handing Finn Baxter his first cap in the Eden Park dressing room, in the presence of his father. I hand over a cap but also pass the baton to my clubmate and long-term successor at England. That’s a beautiful thing.

I want us all to celebrate everything Antoine Dupont has done this year. Everything he touched turned to gold. Who is this fool? I love everything about him.

And a few wishes for the coming rugby year. I’d like to see England attack the Six Nations with the same kind of adventure that saw us beat Ireland at Twickenham last March. I would like to see us show that adventure consistently, not just in the aftermath of defeats. And I want the British and Irish Lions tour to be everything the Covid-ravaged series of 2021 wasn’t. I want a return to the red sea in the stands. I want noise, passion and drama. I want the series to go to a third Test decider and for us to win it! Sounds like a deal?