I get well annoyed when some numpty in the office starts the ball rolling. “I see you every day but because of some tradition that means next-to-nothing and keeps Mr Hallmark in foreign holidays, I feel compelled to give you a fucking card which doesn’t even have a message in it apart from “To Stuart, Happy Christmas, From Numpty”.

You give cards when you don’t see people much, end of. Not when you see them every day and work with them. You’re supposed to send people cards that you don’t have the pleasure of seeing very often. People who mean something from afar. A card with a Santa on the front will remind them of your pasty visage and unite you briefly in the festive season. That’s what they’re for.

I have a regular-as-clockwork argument at home where my mother accuses me of being tight for not getting her a Christmas card. “But, I’m here!” I say. “I can say Happy Christmas in person. I don’t need to send a card.”

And every year she understands less.

Kinda goes without saying. It’s not as if we even shag different people any more. Or our missus. We know people that buy it off the internet just to make them look more exciting. Last year’s wart is still going strong. Thanks Dad.

There is no room for forced japery on Christmas day, no matter how “inventive”. I want to drink heavily, forget I’m alive and maybe get beaten at Trivial Pursuit, not pretend to have fun in a group environment whilst trying to make people guess the name of a film/animal/potato using amusing hand gestures only.

I don’t want to smell like they want me to smell or my thirteen-year-old nephew with rings on his fingers for that matter. I would rather rub Zippo fluid into my crotch and squat over a match.

Unlikely, and unwelcome.

There’s nothing worse than a mildly inebriated relly having the "time of their lives" at Christmas. Hurry up and go back to your shitty one-bed flat so things can just get back to normal.

It’s bad enough opening a gift that you’ve asked for and pretending it’s in some way exciting without having to do it in front of the whole c*nting world.

It's a clever little device, isn't it? But it shouldn't turn you into a c*nt. Why does everything have to be a fucking shared experience? And do the laughing people they show in their adverts actually deign to exist? We like our own company. And swearing.

We had one of them for our birthday. Step things up a notch: Have a mouth full of lukewarm Xmas pud.

Actually, put the receipt away, they'll come in handy.