It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid...

Festive Season Sanity Challenges:

1/ Trying to get Mariah Carey's 'All I Want for Christmas is Yooooooooo-oo-oo (Baby)' off the permanent loop in my brain from 1st December onwards.

2/ Trying not to explode with rage when a schoolchum that I haven't seen more often than about 6 times in the last 20 years insists on still sending me her annual Christmas card. This doesn't even feature 'To Alex' at the top, and contains nothing other than whatever pre-printed greeting came on the card, and a list of her family's names.

I now know that she's had a son since she sent me this maddening waste of time and money last year, but only because there's a new name on the listing. What. Is. The. Point? Much as I think the dreadful annual catch up round robins, detailing every trivial fact of family life over the last year, are the work of solipsistic maniacs, at least they're making the effort. To have no message at all, not even 'hope to see you next year', or 'hope you're well' just makes a mockery of the idea that you're 'keeping in touch via Christmas cards'. I almost feel like crossing out their names, adding mine in and sending it back to her. Through my office post room, so it doesn't even have a proper stamp on it.

3/ Going shopping down Oxford Street on the Saturday in December when they've pedestrianised the whole thing. I was nearly reduced to rocking in a corner in John Lewis, whispering, 'The horror, the horror' like a Christmas Kurtz after one particularly traumatic queueing incident. The only bright spot was seeing a whole bunch of Chinese people dressed in Santa outfits (no idea why) and knowing I've got a long weekend off so I didn't have to blitz the whole thing in one day. How on earth the 95% of men who do all their shopping on Christmas Eve manage without having a breakdown is anyone's guess. Why they'd do it more than once is surely a subject for our nation's top boffins.

4/ Coping with the idea that you must see all your friends before Christmas. What's wrong with a get together in January? January is a hopelessly dull month. No-one has any money, (this year we're being paid on the 18th December. The 18th! How long is January going to feel, when we don't get paid till the 26th!)

I'm a firm believer in keeping most of my friends entirely separate, an idea fostered when I first moved to London and only knew three people, so had to eke out social occasions in a very miserly fashion. I combine this with a strict regime of telly watching at home on my own (at the moment, nothing gets in the way of me watching Spooks and True Blood on a Wednesday. I don't have any sort of recording device - heck, I hardly even have a TV - so 'appointment to view' it must remain). This idea that my diary must suddenly be rammed with social gatherings for the entirety of December causes me to develop near-agoraphobia and engenders a strong desire to spend as much of the weekend as possible under the duvet, with the electric blanket on, surrounded by books, magazines and newspapers with only the occasional foray outside for a cup of coffee and some bacon for a bacon sarnie.

I love my friends, I'd just rather see most of them in January, when I'm no longer straining under the weight of sausage rolls, mince pies and far too much chocolate and slurring my way through my fourth glass of mulled wine. And there's nothing on the telly. So don't be offended if I refuse an invite - I'll actually be much better company after Christmas. And really, no Christmas cards. I gave up sending them years ago, under a cloak of 'eco-friendliness' (aka 'chronic idleness'), so I'll be more than happy with an email. Or a text. Or just the idea that if we're friends, then we know that we both wish for a very happy Christmas for each other.