FeatureDeck the fridge with loads of bolly! 
Laura Henderson offers a few 
pointers on how to manage a Santaholic state.

THE Ho, Ho, Ho is well under way. At last, I can delve under that spare room bed and get down and dirty with the stored Santa sacks brimming with Shirley Temple bows, shredded tissue paper and filigree gift tags dutifully collected throughout the year at all the reduced counters.
Hail Christmas, my fur-lined raison-d’etre. I’m a full-throttle festive fairy — and I love it! I go weak at the knees as early as Easter, just thinking about December’s delights. Bring on the mince pies, National Trust Christmas cards and this year’s signature candle scent. 
The countdown begins, like the car boot season, with the grand opening of the garage. My husband visibly pales under the weight of tea chests full of Christmas decorations. He knows his days are numbered before he has to locate the dud tree light bulb from the twisted vine of green electric cable. This year, it’s the minimalist look. Brown and beige baubles, taupe garlands and raffia angels, finished off with those to-die-for co-ordinating silk reindeer cushions I snapped up in a sale back in May. 
My ideal yuletide telly would be Changing Cards, a Christmas list makeover programme with a few insider tips from Linda Barker on trimming those SAWACO (seen at weddings and christenings only) relatives into obscurity and truly saving on postage. Money saved could be used for something really useful like the dog’s Santa hat. Or a programme of instant therapy to cure you of your Christmas bag fetish would be wonderful. 
Am I the only person with deep misgivings about wrapping paper that doesn’t conform to the pristine corners and crease free sides rule? Ready-made bags are modern day women’s saviour. What else gives you that extra freedom to adorn, primp and beautify with gay and speedy abandon, irrespective of the gift inside? A curly swirl here, a glitter speckled ribbon there — bliss!
But spare a thought for my friend Rachel, for whom no amount of mistletoe, eggnog or chocolate body paint will alter her humbug point of view of Christmas. As sure as crackers are crackers, she’ll be planning a surface to air missile strategy for the annual festive battle with the oldies on Christmas Day.
The benefits of a year’s Tibetan bell therapy, yoga and ground ginseng will unravel before her eyes, as she explodes with rage at her husband, pointing out that Christmas doesn’t just happen — and that if he doesn’t get off the sofa he won’t live to see Boxing Day!
Come Christmas Eve, she’ll be a one woman stress mobile ploughing through the crowds of shoppers, cell phone clamped to her ear as her mother screeches down the line about having to pay a fortune to sit on a train from Edinburgh that stops at every lamppost! 
Eventually, late on Boxing Day, she resorts to a set of woolly earmuffs and a glow in the dark eye mask to blot out the yuletide carnage.
There is of course the option to cancel Christmas, but I most certainly wouldn’t even contemplate that! I’d miss the all-in-one twenty four door opening of the advent calendar just to get the chocolates out, the beating the store closing times to locate the last remaining pair of Action Man Agent binoculars and vacuuming up errant pine needles that carry a fresh yuletide scent throughout the house.
And I’d certainly miss my non-PC father randomly talking about pre-war nylons and the spiritual merits of whisky, before sneaking off to watch High Society with a box of chocolates stuffed under his arm. 
Christmas is about making that extra effort to get along with the family, coming together to honour each other’s strange ways and still retaining your sense of humour. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to feast with Stephen my next-door neighbour.
Care to join me?