As christmassy as I am prepared to get

It isn't that I hate all of christmas.

True I am not fond at all of the dinner and get queasy at the thought of wasting the world's resources on yet more tat. I would rather not have enforced group holidays and dislike the overheated bloated feeling of Christmas afternoon. I would really rather not take part in the complicated social expectations of gift and card exchanging. I am nervous beyond belief climbing the stairs to my children's bedrooms on Christmas Eve with the stocking hoping beyond hope that they don't wake (thereby 'Ruining Christmas For Ever' and it being 'My Fault') -not helped by the fact that I idiotically sewed bells on one of the stockings years ago. I have a strong antipathy toward watching people open gifts chosen by me with excited anticipation knowing I bought them in deperation and haste and that they'll hate it once they get them open. I develop a tic when looking at those migraine inducing flashing Christmas outside lights which festively illuminate guttering. Tinsel leaves me quite cold. I feel weary at the appalling inevitable trudge through television adverts with 'don't mention global warming' snow in October, November's frantic flogging of perfume, big fat televisions and sparkly dresses (what flaming season of parties) and December's indigestion cures to January's diet, sale and holiday onsluaught.

I mean I quite like a mince pie now and again.