The truth about 'Lonely this Christmas'

It was by Mud, not Elvis.

It wasn't a cover version of an Elvis song. It was written by Chinn & Chapman, purveyors of brilliant glam rock to teenyboppers.

Elvis never sang it. Honestly.

That's it.

Oh, yes, and it's one of my favourite Christmas singles ever.

Merry Christmas, everyone, wherever you are.

A definition of vintage. And a happy Christmas.

A few weeks ago I was browsing Christmas stuff in Oxfam and saw they were selling 'vintage' cards.

Great, I thought, I like vintage things. Picked one up, turned it over and it said on the back that it dated back to 1987. Ouch.

After going through them all I finally found one that was originally designed in 1957. My definition of vintage: a year older than me.

Happy Christmas.

I used to be politically correct but I'm all right now

Sometimes I think I should stop reading the Guardian.

Brand loyalty is all very well, and I'm normally happy to define myself as a Guardianista - with all that implies. (I own a bicycle, but rarely use it. I hate supermarkets, but shop at Tesco. I worry about climate change, and drive a car.)

But sometimes I do get annoyed.

Are White Christmases a thing of the past?

There are Christmas cards all over my book cases. I like to spot trends so, now that I know there aren't going to be any more cards, I've started looking for themes. This year, in order of popularity, they are:
1. Snow scenes.
2. Birds and animals.
3. Nativity scenes and/or carols.
4. Random Christmas decorations.

There's a lot of crossover, of course. Snow scenes with animals. Snow scenes with robins. Christmas decorations in the snow. I nearly did a Venn diagram, but I'm not quite that anal.

Christmas cards, round robins and writer's block

One of the best things about this time of year is that you actually get real post. I know it's more eco-friendly to send e-cards, but there's something special about envelopes coming through the letterbox with the handwriting of friends and family.

I even like the 'round robin' letters that come with them. It's easy to sneer (thanks Simon Hoggart and his numerous crowd-sourcing readers), but I care about my old friends, even if I rarely see them, and I genuinely like to know how they are.

Why I hate shopping

I’m sure it’s true that Christmas shopping expands to fill the time available. I’m the sort of person who’s more inclined to celebrate Buy Nothing Christmas than the sales but I still find myself drawn to what passes for a high street in the small town where I live. (Just one more bag of satsumas and my Christmas will be perfect...) I’ve even found myself going round the shops in the small city near where I live.

Being boring

I’ve been doing the Christmas cards: that strange delayed communication where you tell someone about your year without knowing what’s happened in their’s (because, assuming you meet the last posting date, the letters inevitably cross). And the older you get, the more worrying the possibilities become and the more careful you have to be. I wouldn’t say that my year has all been plain sailing but if you’re looking for drama there’s nothing to report. Worked too hard, went on holiday a bit. That’s it. Instead of writing a letter, I’m inclined to send my friends a copy of Wendy Cope’s poem Being Boring.

There was drama enough in my turbulent past: Tears and passion - I’ve used up a tankful. No news is good news, and long may it last. If nothing much happens, I’m thankful.

I won’t write it all out because of copyright - but I’m sure someone has, so feel free to google it. Or, if you’re feeling energetic, go to the library: it’s page 9 of the book called If I Don’t Know. When we get the end-of-year media roundups next week, the most-used cliche about 2008 is bound to be the one about ‘living in interesting times’. In those circumstances, I’m actually quite glad that my own life is less than interesting.

All I want for Christmas...

I don’t spend a lot of time or money doing Christmas shopping these days - the grown-ups in my family decided a few years ago to take a Buy Nothing Christmas approach - which leaves a lot more time for having fun. But I do still have to buy consumerist stuff for the younger generation, which is how I found myself recently in a large record shop. The first thing I saw was a book about the Clash, my favourite band of all time. It took a few seconds to realise what I was looking at. A coffee table book. Please don’t let anyone buy this for me for Christmas.

Winter wonderland

One of the great things about getting older is that you finally get the point of deferred gratification. I love Advent. I love the feeling that something magical is on the horizon but you’re not quite there yet. Christmas can be good, of course, but once your age reaches double figures it’s never actually magical again. Somehow, though, I still get a kick out of the wait. Last night as I came out of church the pavements were shining white with frost, the municipal lights were glowing, and even my drab small town looked special. It could have been Christmas. I was glad that it wasn’t.