Warning: the following contains scenes of people enjoying themselves. Might be suitable for children.


We lit the tree in our village last week. We poured petrol over it and… only joking kids (don't try that at home). We turned on the lights and Christmas was welcomed in on a cold dark, Dublin evening.


Christmas always looks its best at night. Black suits it. It accentuates the light winking on trees and gutterings and spilling out of living rooms. Shadows retreat. The longest nights of the year are actually the brightest – and it's a man-made brightness.


When that brightness returned to our village last week, something else retreated. For an hour, cynicism, sadness and futility were exiled to the edge of town.


Small voices bubbled up around the stage in the church carpark. Clouds of breath hung in the air as children sang the praises of Rudolf's remarkable hooter. Inflatable snowpeople hummed along as air was pumped up their white posteriors from an invisible generator. The chill crept up through the soles of my shoes. "Santy," we were told, "will be along presently."


Feet shuffled, noses snuffled and children raced through prayers as Father John blessed the tree.


"Godblessourtree. Aaaaamen-wheressanta?"


The switch was pressed, the tree blazed. Light was slung over its branches like a broken cobweb. Then Santa appeared, in a shower of sparks, on top of Goat Castle. Children squealed and hundreds of adults, including non-parents like me, were led by the hand out of reality back to our childhood. Everybody was smiling.


Later, walking past the four dead businesses on Castle Street, I wondered what it would be like to see Christmas through a child's eyes again. To rub out the rubbish bits of reality and only see the good stuff. To blot out the misery of the past year.


Then I remembered the story of Jenny O'Connell. In May, the Dun Laoghaire mum had her sight restored after 46 years of blindness. She was able to see her husband and her children for the first time. She was able to see all the things we take for granted.


I realised that this is the first Christmas Jenny has seen since she was 11 years old. The visible world will be bright and new again on Christmas morning.


What a year to regain your sight, though. Since May, there has been nothing but images of floods, marches and angry faces. Jenny may have seen Alan O'Brien's, contorted with rage on The Frontline, as he berated Pat Kenny over his wages. Hardly a sight for sore eyes.


She may have seen Paul Gogarty's face as he effed and blinded in the Dáil.


She may have seen Bertie Ahern's as he told TV3 he wasn't sure if his years in politics "had been worth it".


She will finally have put a face to Brian Cowen but may still wonder what most of his government look like. From May to late September they were on holidays and now they're gone until 19 January. Biffo's probably on the couch, munching a mince pie reading this. Hey Biffo, quit dropping crumbs all over me, will you? And put on a shirt, like a good man.


She also regained her sight in time to read the headline announcing the cuts to her allowances and those of her blind husband.


She may have seen her first Christmas card in five decades. Hopefully it won't have been from her local TD. The exchequer spends €2.7m on TDs' cards. Imagine: your benefit is slashed and a card arrives with a picture of a politician on it – and you've paid for it. Happy Christmas.


She can finally see a Christmas panto again, if she likes. I recommend 'The Pied Piper' in Thurles tonight. Michael Lowry is making his stage debut in it as the 'good mayor' who holds the balance of power in Thurles/Hamelin. All together now: "He's behind you, Biffo – just so long as it suits him."


Apart from all the stupidity, avarice and anger, Jenny will see good things too.


After years of darkness, she will be surrounded by light. She will see it twinkling on trees and strung across streets. She will see carol singers, Santa hats and spray-frosted windows. She may be fortunate enough to see plundered selection boxes and faces streaked with chocolate. She'll see torn wrapping paper. She will see tinsel and baubles and cribs and stars and angels. She'll see primped people hiding hangovers at Christmas mass.


She'll see eejits jumping into the icy water at the Forty Foot. She'll see those eejits, purple and jibbering, race back ashore.


She'll see kindness in most faces and hopefully smiles on those of her family around the table. She can finally see where the sprouts are.


After 46 years of waiting, Jenny O'Connell will see Santa again. Hopefully, she'll see enough pleasant things this Christmas to fatten her spirit up for the lean months ahead. I hope you do too.


Here's a thought to end on: tomorrow, Monday 21 December, is the shortest, darkest day of the year. On Tuesday, the days will start getting longer again.


We'll have turned the corner. The darkness won't be here forever. If you don't believe me, go ask Jenny O'Connell.


Happy Christmas.


dkenny@tribune.ie