Caution is advised when sharing ones enthusiasm for Christmas with others. A time of year that traditionally brings love, happiness and belonging to many can bring the polar opposites from the emotional spectrum to those who have experienced misery. Having been on the receiving end of the shittest Christmas in living memory last year, I know too well that it can be hideous.

My dad never enjoyed Christmas when I was a child. In fact, he used to go out of his way to make sure that we didn’t enjoy it either, often spending the entire period in bed. We just shrugged it off and made the most of the best bits anyway, but it was never nice seeing my mum’s efforts to pacify him cause such a strain on her. She’d have been advised to hit the sherry and forget about him by many, but she carried on with her matriarchal duties to ensure that the festive period was enjoyable for everyone.

Now I’m older I can sympathise with Dad somewhat: he was away from his family in Italy and communication via telephone wasn’t even a possibility in the days when there was a waiting list for a telephone line. On the other hand, he was also a miserable, moody sort and he just used any excuse to retreat to his blackness.

Despite those Christmases that were “sub-optimal” because of my dad’s moods, I always think fondly of the time, remembering back to the excitement shared with my sister as we counted down from the first of December, or maybe even November. We shared a bedroom and we’d try to stay awake on Christmas Eve in the hope of hearing sleigh bells. But anyway, we’ve both had our own homes for the past few years so that all stopped in about 2000. ;o)

With my niece growing into a child that I love to spend time with, I fully intend to make the absolute most of the Christmas period for as many years as the magic remains for her. Saying that though, and having been in the “this is the most terrible, awful time of the year” situation last year, I am conscious that the joy can’t be forced on people.

On the other hand, some people are just fucking miserable for the sake of it, probably because they read the Guardian and listen to too much Radio 4 and they deliberately let all the joy be leached from their lives. They can go fuck themselves with what ever non-religious, non-festive, eco-friendly miserable box set of “teach yourself how to knit yourself content: a self-help guide because nobody wants to help you” DVDs and stay out of my way.

Happy Holidays.