Three days before the arrival of Santa Claus and it all looks set for a good festive period.

Three days before the arrival of Santa Claus and it all looks set for a good festive period.

So here we are again. You've done it. I think you ought to put your feet up, slug back huge quantities of mulled wine, devour the mince pies as if they were going out of fashion and just relax. The uncles, aunties, cousins and of course the children have been notified and sufficiently informed. They can feel it in their bones. They'll be counting down their hours frantically as if barely able to control their excitement. It does though seem a shame to wake up Santa on Christmas Eve. Somebody should give that man or woman an alarm clock or maybe another beard to add to the increasingly expanding collection.

Yes folks it's Christmas. Christmas is this year sponsored by those wonderfully reputable chocolate companies, those big old turkey farms, those familiar brand names such as Coca Cola, the endless whisky manufacturers and the mince pie folk who tend to hog most of the headlines on our groaning Christmas tables. Then there are the festive cracker firms as well as the tree and decorations conglomerates- or whatever they call themselves these days.

Then there are the respectful nods to all those corporate concerns who stuff Santa's stocking every year. There are the now very high tech I-Pads, smart phones, Tablets and all manner of  technologically dynamic computer games that none of us could have remotely imagined 50 years ago. What happened to those family favourites such as Ker Plunk, Mousetrap, Scrabble, Spirograph, Etch-A- Sketch, the Hornby railway set, Cluedo, Ludo, and the aforementioned Monopoly, Scrabble and what about that good old fashioned game of cards? Have we forgotten about chess, have we forgotten those fondly romantic throwbacks such as the walk in the local park after the festive feast or do we still venture out with the family and dogs?

It does seem that we've lost all connection with the essence and spirit of this festive celebration. I can still remember boldly setting out after the Christmas Day lunch with a purposeful step. I was determined to find out whether I could find any signs of civilisation on the local streets and anything that even vaguely resembled a car on the road. But my quest was inevitably a fruitless one so I returned home perhaps taken aback with wonder at the air of sheer emptiness outside the family home but in a sense quite uplifted by the solitude and serenity of it all. Much to my amazement there was nothing at all. Zilch, Rien. You had to see it to believe it. Not even a van or lorry although you might spot the occasional bike but that would have been unusual.

And yet it was strangely comforting in a way because nobody really needed to go anywhere. You had everything you wanted in your cosy domestic hearth and all that was required was a one enormous gastronomic adventure, one huge nosh on everything that's terribly bad for you, a wild abandonment of our yearly diet and twelve months in the gym pumping iron.

Oh yes that's another thing. Every year we make the same promises, the same dietary pledges to kick the pizzas, fish and chips and kebabs into touch and never set eyes on another pudding again. And every year we never seem to remember why so many healthy sacrifices were made. Then on New Year's Day we fall into that same trap. It's that yearly commitment to health and fitness that we keep insisting that one day we'll get round to carrying out.

 Oh mum and dad, I'm really full and I must have put on at least 53 stones since the beginning of the year so therefore I'm going to lock myself in a gym, row frenetically on the rowing machine for at least six months, run 68 marathons, stop eating junk food altogether and just watch the weight fall off me.  The reality of course is starkly different and of course it's quite a sobering reality check. Perhaps you were listening to that reproachful voice tapping you on the shoulder and the guilt was just too much.

 Personally I'm back on my running and tennis regime and for me that's very personally satisfying. I'll never be the next Mo Farrah or indeed Andy Murray but I can now look myself in the eye and be proud that I'm making my personal  contribution in the name of fitness. I hope to stick it and persevere in all weathers.

And yet we subject to ourselves to the same dilemmas every year without fail. We make that yearly pilgrimage to the gym, coughing up the subscription fee and then change our minds at the beginning of February because it doesn't seem worth the effort and besides it's all that unnecessary expenditure of sweat and athletic dedication for what? Just the miserable realisation that everything had to be done in moderation. But hey, what fun we had at the time.

Well, the answer can never really be found because Christmas is our way of giving ourselves the most mammoth guilty conscience. Of course there's nothing wrong with eating and drinking in excess but by the time Christmas is over we begin to wonder why we did it in the first place and just fill ourselves with more remorse. Why, we ask ourselves, do we consume a hundred farmyards of turkey, a hundred whisky distilleries, 80 thousand bars of cocoa chocolate, biscuits by the barrowload and then we repeat the same exercise every December. And let's not forget the brewery of booze with shorts and without shorts. It doesn't seem to matter.

 I know. Let's go crazy. It's not as if we have to get up for work, school and university the following day or even the next week. Treat yourself to a fortnight of joyous celebration, Have a lie in every day. Don't get up until mid-day. In fact have breakfast and lunch in bed and then reluctantly join everybody for tea in your pyjamas. Now that sounds a great idea. It's time for laziness and indiscipline. It only happens once a year after all. Kick off those party shoes and drape yourself with tinsel. This is what Christmas is all about.

That's it. I've got it. Christmas is just a conspiracy or perhaps a conspiracy theory. Maybe Christmas is our way of rewarding our efforts throughout the year and then just beating ourselves up because it wasn't eminently sensible and advisable. Let's face it Christmas is that golden opportunity to drink youself into a stupor and eat fit to burst. There's no self control involved, no laws, rules and regulations, boundaries and taboos. You can do whatever you like within reason, you can sing and dance the night away with unashamed vigour and zest.

 It's time to give yourself permission to be good and kind to yourself. It's time to blow up as many balloons as possible, to listen to all of your favourite I tunes or Spotify to your hearts content.  Now ladies and gentlemen I'm off to drink a barrel of brandy and a several gallons of lager. On second thoughts that's just madness and besides I very rarely touch the hard stuff. No I'm looking forward to that usual appointment with Her Majesty the Queen at 3pm on both the BBC and ITV. Merry Christmas and a Happy Chanukah my friends. Those latkes my wife made me were wonderful. Have a great time everyone.