The Friday before Christmas.

The Friday before Christmas.

The Friday before Christmas. It has a certain ring to it. You may be inclined to think that it could be  a suitable title for a yet to be released pop song or an advertising slogan. But yes folks you've got roughly two and half days to cram as much into your shopping basket and you don't need to panic as such because all of those glitzy and festively outlandish supermarkets are still shifting huge quantities of mince pies, turkeys, vast boxes of chocolates and biscuits, crisps at their most mouth wateringly enticing, knockdown price and you know what's it like.

 You spend most of the year taking your shopping at quite the most leisurely pace and now we've reached that last, momentous week of the year and all hell seems to break loose. It's mayhem and bedlam on the same day, hour, week and month. All is one chaotic sequence of humanity trying desperately to break all kinds of records for speed shopping in case the whole world just closes down and never opens again at any time in the foreseeable future. Mustn't forget Uncle Neil's favourite onion stuffing for the turkey or his Christmas present. Not more bottles of after shave lotion, surely. But then Uncle Neil does like his after shave lotion which means we can all breathe a sigh of relief.

Now things are beginning to wind down for the holiday period after yesterday's traffic jam madness on all roads leading out and into North London. There is a maddening maelstrom of activity which has seemingly been with us for the best part of a week or so. The frantic pursuit for more food and more drink seems to have diminished now and slowly but surely the great British public are closing their front door ready to feast and gorge ravenously on the yearly festive fare. The families have been safely welcomed and that green laurel wreath on the door looks more attractive than ever before.

Inside, red cheeked children will run around your home, throwing themselves intrepidly off your sofas when mum has made it abundantly clear that the children will break something 50 times. Then the kids will carry out their traditional somersaulting across the carpets and then fling themselves over petrified chairs and tables. Eventually order will be restored but this is the time when families gather harmoniously and besides kids will be kids and it is Christmas after all.

But here we are once again on the same day and week of the year and this is the way we've always done it without fail. There are the well wrapped, golden bowed presents, dad proudly standing next to the fireplace with  glass of brandy in hand, cigar quietly fuming away. Then mum busies herself vigorously in the kitchen balancing plates and bowls in an extraordinary display of nimble dexterity.

In one amazing demonstration of natural skill, she peels potatoes, squirts cream onto another cake and then rustles up a huge stir fry of rice accompanied by mushrooms, brussel sprouts, carrots and all manner of vegetables - all seemingly at the same time. Then there's a boiling and smoking in the kitchen, pressure cookers boiling with fury and indignation, smoke alarms going off simultaneously and then the radio comes on.  Now this is the cue for Christmas to start. Now the kitchen and the living room become the centre of our universe. It is a living organism, a sacred December ritual and it's got to be right and perfect on the day. If it isn't then the day will be considered a complete disaster.

Suddenly the family put on their Mass best and churches across the world address the issues of love to one and all, peace on earth as well as much merriment and mirth. This is a day of complete abandonment to the good things in life, the things we may have taken for granted over the preceding 11 months while also questioning why the horrors and depredations that have already taken place over the year can never be entirely forgotten. But Christmas is perhaps the one time of the year when we all get misty eyed, nostalgic perhaps and warmly reflective. We giggle and chuckle almost incessantly at the delightful frothiness and frivolity of the whole festive period. We hanker after snow on Christmas Day but then wince with horror when it rains or those blustery winds blow with a vengeance.

The spirit of Christmas lives on and on as if it were hard wired into our system and we know exactly what to expect. There's the Salvation Army in the local shopping centre forever smartly dressed, full of virtue and virtuosity. There goes another helping of  'Come All Ye Faithful' and 'Ding Dong Merrily On High as a robin skips playfully from one branch to another. And then there's the prompt arrival and presence of the Christmas tree, oblivious to all the hurry and scurry, determined to remain upright.

Then your family makes its way towards that very respectful church where the vicars of the world in white gently shake the hands of the local parishioners before wandering through parklands with whispering sycamore trees. Christmas Day is a day for being thoughtful and optimistic, rationalising the year that has passed so quickly, shrugging off disappointments but then revelling in the here and now.

And now everybody descends on the huge boxes of chocolates once again. There is a cosy domesticity and intimacy that Christmas can so naturally engender because nobody has to worry about life in the office or shop for a week or two. We gather around groaning tables of food and drink, feeling enormously guilty about the excessive amount of food available on the table and then resigning ourselves happily to hangovers the following day. Christmas Day offers much that some may feel is too much but then who cares. It only happens once a year after all.

Above all Christmas is perhaps the only time when we feel totally liberated, allowed to do the things that would never be regarded as acceptable behaviour in, shall we say, a wet weekend in March when there's nothing on TV and everybody looks bored on a Sunday afternoon. The restrictions have been lifted, the restraints and constraints temporarily just a distant memory. So let's plonk those silly hats
on our heads, pull a cracker with Uncle Neil and Auntie Ethel while imagining that this is the one time of the year to let go and enjoy themselves.

Shorty the Saturday before Christmas will appear on our landscape and we'll  launch into that hectic merry go round of buying, rummaging around for cheap pullovers and then embarking on another journey into that familiar world of hustling and bustling, panicking and palpitating in case we've missed out something vitally important. It's probably the craziest and zaniest time of the year but how we throw ourselves whole heartedly into a holiday period that seems to go on for ever. Oh Christmas, it is indeed the most wonderful time of the year. Andy Williams knew what he was singing about.