Here it comes again: the frenzy and anti-climax that we all know as Christmas, Crimbo or - as someone had the foresight to further minimise, way ahead of the SMS age, the to-the-point - 'Xmas'.
For years, like many men, I've had my suspicions, which over successive seasons have evolved into dread, panic and occasionally loathing - attenuated only by some of the more positive excesses associated with the festival (that has its roots in the Winter Solstice - a wholly more edifying and real proposition that I can relate to).
However, I'll not be going anywhere near any standing stones or eating any coal (or whatever it is that Druids do). This year I'm opting out, and any fear of being perceived as a curmudgeon, have finally been ...