‘Tis the season to feel guilty …la, la, la, la, la

I love Christmas. In fact, I love most festivals. Any time there’s a reason to dress up, drink and eat too much – you’ll find me first in the queue.

Even taking a bus ride into central London becomes a magical experience this time of the year. Thousands of twinkly fairy lights mesmerise you en route, creating sparkling tapestries above tiny streets. Soft glowing beacons shaped like gift boxes and reindeers promise to whisk you away to fairyland. Every shop window lures and tempts with an array of glittering little treats.

The nip in the air holds all the promise of cosy evenings by the fire, warmed by mulled wine, Christmas cakes and mugs of steaming cocoa.

Everything seems softer, all the sharp edges blurred like some soft focussed film from the 50s. Everyone seems happier, more excited - anticipating the good times ahead.

However there is one jarring note to mar the festivities. The guilt. Oh yes, it’s everywhere.

Open the evening newspaper and it shouts at you: You there! Are you sure you’ve bought the best possible Pineapple Cutter for your Mum? Remember, this is the woman who was in labour for 22 hours to bring you into this world.

On the tube journey back home, the tarted-up twenty-something in crimson underwear nudges and winks at you: See, I’m taking care of my man this Christmas. What have you done?

Switch on the telly and it demands to know what fabulous presents you’ve bought for your kid: Here’s this lovely new gizmo. Only costs 200 quid. Now, if you really loved your child…!

You try and escape into your emails and the comforting vastness of the world wide web. But not for long. A pop-up interrupts: Haven’t you forgotten the Mulled Wine? Another one yells: What about presents for old Uncle Somebody and Aunty Somebody Else in the depths of Devon.

Before you can switch the damn machine off, you’re deluged with all the other million must-haves for Christmas that you don’t have and cannot possibly afford to have.

I’m not surprised that some people hate Christmas so vehemently. Because the guilt is slathered thicker than the icing on the Christmas cake. Just masses of it, everywhere you turn.

Because what every canny marketer wants us to think is: the amount of money you spend on someone during Christmas is directly proportional to the amount you love them. So spend more, to show you care more. Simple.

So that’s why on the weekends before Christmas, we find ourselves marching with hunched shoulders alongside the other stressed millions along Oxford Street or your local high street. I love, I love, so I’ve got to show it – don’t you see?

I must admit that I love presents – both giving and receiving them. It always brings a warm glow to my heart. But surely, we’ve gone past some boundary with all this mindless buy, buy, buy. Most of these Christmas presents end up discarded and useless, sometimes even before the New Year. A friend at work recently told me she had to buy presents for 50 people –50 – that is a lot of presents and a lot of money, surely?

Here’s an idea – what if we only bought presents for the kids in the family? Or just restricted it to immediate family members? Or what if was decreed by lawy that everyone, and I mean everywhere, was only allowed to spend a fiver per present? I don’t know what the solutions is, but there’s got be something surely.

The other alterative is that the mound of unloved, unwanted Christmas presents just keeps growing and growing, takes up the entire planet at some point – leaving us without space or money. I know that’s a bit over the top, but…

Meanwhile, I shall join the millions of crazed shoppers this weekend on the trail of the perfect Christmas present. So…la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.