I am on a runaway Christmas train. It is playing ‘Sleigh bells ring, are you listening’ on a loop over the loud speaker. The conductor is dressed as The Grinch and is handing out credit card receipts for enormous purchases. The trolley goes past every 3 minutes laden with mince pies, sambucca slammers, pickled onions and a full array of finger bites from a famous frozen food brand. I am trying to write a list of who I need to buy for but my pen is a candy cane and I cannot remember if I have already got a present for Bing Crosby. That’s because I am a bit tipsy and am distracted by the sight of the accounts team dressed in inflatable santa suits. Any minute now Kirstie Allsopp is going to swing down the carriage with something she made earlier.
Anxiety dreams aside, and following my decision to go cold turkey on anything kitsch and sheddingly sparkly, I am excited about Christmas. It is so close I can almost touch it. Having already eaten it for the last couple of weeks. In a few days anything I haven’t ordered ain’t going to happen. Am going to be head to toe in velvet welcoming B&B guests, friends and the saviour of an oil delivery.
Big up Christmas people.