The Halloween decorations have been packed away, fireworks have exploded and the air still smells of burnt embers and pumpkin but regardless of this, I’m hectically ordering baubles, downloading Now That’s What I Call Christmas and buying the most adorable wrapping paper the high street has to offer.
As I listen to Christmas Scrooges grumbling about the Coca Cola advert and sighing about my need to visit London’s Winter Wonderland for the fifth time, I can’t help but feel sorry for them.
Christmas is my yearly indulgence and I’m not giving it up for anyone. I live for the sights and smells of Winter, the cosy jumpers are building up and Christmas markets are already pencilled in the calendar to kick start the festivities.
Not even working in retail for three years, where Christmas starts in October and customers fight it out over the final turkeys, dampens my spirits. I start wrapping presents in October and sneakily filling my ears with Slade and Band Aid weeks before December rears its bitterly cold head.
The warming family atmosphere as the winter spice candles flicker on the windowsill is enough to make even the most cold hearted individual smile.
Serving up pigs in blankets and stuffing as crackers are pulled and awful jokes are sniggered at makes my entire year.
In short, just simply seeing people happy puts a smile on my face; the festive backdrop definitely helps though.
When the evening comes to an end and everyone has collapsed in a food coma I cannot help but feel warm and content. As grandparents snooze on the sofa and parents drunkenly discuss their childhood memories with Christmas music ringing in their ears, life feels perfectly balanced.
I bombard the scrooges of festivity with Christmas carols and tinsel knowing that when Christmas eve rolls round and everyone gathers together filled with cheer, even the grouchiest of Grinches will inwardly smile as they become hysterical watching Home Alone while finishing off the Quality Streets.
I am constantly harassed by eye rolls from grizzly Grinches, ready waiting to rain on my parade with their ‘you’re not a child anymore’ speeches urging me to grow up.
No, I am not a child but regardless of this very obvious fact, all I want to do is bathe in Christmas magic. Much like that awful sweatshirt your Nan makes you every year Christmas celebrations are for life, not just for our childhood.