December creeps stealthily on towards Christmas determined to surprise us at the last minute with some dreadful old man dressed in red to match his rummy eyes. Presents are bought but have yet to be delivered or wrapped or despatched and as usual we have run out of cards to send to people we only see once a year or hardly ever. In the deep pudding-black, sky clouding, tree bending, turkey gobbling days before the festivities begin in earnest, there is still time to discover the last minute present for Auntie Griselda and Uncle Sigismund tucked away in a dusty shop in a secluded lane in a distant city.

At Christmas we look back to all those Christmas past mornings with stockings stuffed with presents and glittering trees laden with gold and silver tinsel and bells and shining stars or sad looking fairies at their top. At the happy ghosts of people we shared them with and who are no longer with us. At those Christmas Eves and Christmas mornings and lunches and Queen's speeches and forgotten films on flickering televisions and presents given and received and all the good times of our lives concentrated into those precious hours.

So we should never grudge Christmas its toll of memories sad or sorrowful, because it brings each year a reminder that, if we are fortunate, our days are not all worry and strife, hard work and a moveable feast of disaster.

Christmas brings out the best in people, most of the time, and should be celebrated quietly and in as diginified a way as possible, commensurate with your personal drinking habits and inclinations. For the first time this year we are going to eat our Christmas Dinner with a group of relatives and friends in a restaurant. One should do so now and again. Our last time was in Florida in 1973. I am assured that this time there is the possibility of real snow on the Christmas tree.