I consider how many days of the year I live as if it were Christmas? Perhaps the last 364 days have been Christmas for me, which is why this December 25th didn’t seem ‘special’ like it use to?

In years past, I went to bed, having carefully placed a plate of biscuits and 9 carrots on the table in the hall (we had a wood burning stove, so Father Christmas couldn’t use the chimney) along with a small glass of something alcoholic – which no doubt would have taken the varnish off the floor tiles if spilt. Then, in eager anticipation, try to sleep, with thoughts of a bearded old man creeping around my bedroom in the dead of night.
The following morning (5.00am or earlier) I would leap from my bed and drag the overflowing stocking with me to my parents room, where I would proceed to carefully unwrap each and every present.
The day continued with Grandparents arriving and more presents for me!! I did have to wait until after lunch before unwrapping any more and like many others, the biggest and best present was left till last when I was made to think I had opened everything in sight.
As the years went by, Christmas became as much about giving presents as receiving them (I know what the Church likes us to think but I was young and that’s my excuse).

This year however, it was unbelievably normal, which is why I considered the above question, or whether in fact I am becoming Mr Scrooge or maybe the Grinch who I think the Queen based her attire on this year.