I like Christmas. Truly, I’m not a festive grouch.
I get a warm glow from seeing little children queuing up to hand their wish lists to Santa, and nothing much gives me more pleasure than a December early evening shopping trip into town to jostle with the crowds and source that all-important ‘must have’ toy for my niece.
However, it’s not even the end of November and I’ve already had to give up my early morning relax over a newspaper and caffeine injection. By the third airing of Little Drummer Boy on the festive song tape, my teeth were clenched so tightly they were in danger of shattering right into my cappuchino.
The weekly supermarket shop has become a trial of patience: can I get everything on my list and stand in the ever-increasing queue for 10 minutes before I start screaming and running amok in the aisles after yet another (bad) rendition of O Come All Ye Faithful on the pan pipes.
And the chances of an enjoyable jaunt into town for a little retail therapy are getting slimmer by the day, as every shop I venture into is playing some nauseating pre-recorded festive, jazzed up version of Christmas-themed songs.
Roy Wood’s blasted I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day has a lot to answer for, if you ask me.