writer's moll

My groanometer tells me that Christmas is getting closer. And, valiantly as ever, we’re beavering away at our tried and tested recipe for a good time. The one that always turns out slightly tasteless, so will need even more extravagant ingredients next year, the one that makes us slightly queasy and glad when it’s gone.

Christmas really is the ultimate triumph of hope over experience. So why do we do it? What’s happened to our inventiveness? We didn’t sit for long in smoke-filled caves before someone came up with the bright idea of a chimney, or endure many seasons growing strawberries that the birds ate before it struck us that a little bit of netting would solve the problem, so why is it beyond us to find a way to have a Christmas we actually like?

So ran a discussion recently, but when it came to exactly what it is that makes and mars Christmas, there was no consensus at all. My loved one recalled blissful Christmases spent with a bunch of friends and a picnic on the beach when he lived in New Zealand, although I doubt if even his optimistic nature would welcome the prospect of a re-run of that on a near-freezing beach in England.

Freedom to do as you like, a stroll down the pub for convivial conversation with friends by a log fire were all mentioned wistfully, while resentment at the hours spent shopping and chopping of food, the noise, the chaos and worst of all, the head-breaking task of finding the right presents for everyone were reasons to be cheerless.

But, obviously there is a common thread - responsibility and that’s what’s so irksome. The years we liked were when we did all the fun stuff and someone else did all the worrying: about what to buy for whom, whether there was enough money to pay for it, the queues in the supermarket and whether Aunt Gwen could be persuaded to bury the hatchet with Uncle Bill long enough to get through Christmas lunch.

So we should take a deep breath and acknowledge that the old Christmas is dead, finished, gone for ever. Things are different - global warming has put paid to the snow, the environment to the real tree, the TV to the carol services, our year-round gluttony to the turkey and presents and cheap booze to our restraint in holding our tongue when Aunt Gwen won’t shut up.

But don’t panic, we can rebuild it, make it nicer, cheaper and fit for heroes. Well, I’ve done my bit - given you a blank sheet to say how you'd really like to spend Christmas.