All the children have sent off their letter’s to the North Pole, and are busy working hard at being nice and not as naughty as they usually are. Mums and dads are getting used again to the employment of elbows on the high street and using the sort of colourful language that would get anyone knocked of Santa’s list. That special feeling is back in the air; that electric buzz of remembered grudges and the dread of Christmas dinner with those special people you try hard to avoid all year – the family.

Only fourteen days to go and it’s all over, at least for another year. That still leaves the unavoidable problem of the fact that in thirteen godforsaken days of festive fashions, Christmas shoppers and wasted office workers soiling taxi cabs Christmas will be upon us. I’m a little ray of sunshine at this time of year, as you can imagine, because I dream up ways of stopping the mayhem by going postal in Lapland on Christmas Eve.


Still, there are people who enjoy it, and it is really them that we should be thinking about. It is almost impossible to put words to the enormous sense of joy I get from thinking of those Christmas people in my life. Knowing the agony of their hangovers and the misery of their bank balances ‘til the end of January gives me a wonderful lift. The thought of the look on their faces come the twelfth day when they’re taking down their baubles and tinsel – sick to their back teeth of Santa and fake snow. I just thought I would share some of my joy with you today.

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