Every year, I tell myself I’m not doing Christmas, I don’t like it and I don’t want to know. But little by little it creeps in. It starts with supermarkets – disgustingly early while you’re still in the afterglow of the August bank holiday, the shelves are being re-arranged to make room for those familiar but smaller tins of chocolates. Then television adverts get in on the act and my annoyance levels slowly creep up. Friends start sharing their plans and ask about mine. I bah humbug at them and agree to visit, may as well I’m not celebrating this year anyway. The lights, decorations and trees appear in the town centre and the sparkling lights always look good. I relent and think it would be nice to have the tree up and maybe a few lights nothing much. The first Christmas card arrives in the post and I find myself checking if I have any left from last year, maybe I should get some new ones. It’s probably wise to get some for distant relatives overseas now as well and of course stamps. And before I know it I’m in too deep and it’s happening. Plans have been made, cakes and bread are being baked, I’m invited to share and Christmas has got me involved once more. Seasonal greetings everyone.