Since I am, to quote one correspondent, a "pathetic sad little ego-maniac with nothing to offer the word", I feel I ought to flag up a fun post at Harry's Place, a
"sneak preview of some of the 'seasonal specials' being planned by some of our favourite columnists":

Stephen Pollard - Blunkett’s Christmas Hell. In my new book I reveal David Blunkett’s intense anguish over whether or not to send a Christmas card to his lover. Also in my new book, available at all good book shops, Blunkett revealed to me how he snubbed an invite to John Prescott’s Christmas party because he feared it would be “boring”. That’s in my new book by the way…the one by me.

One the commenters has rumbled me, too:

Stephen Pollard will also write a short why-oh-why for The Times on the same lines as his Glastonbury old faithful, to wit: the only people who really look forward to Christmas are ageing middle class snobs who want to recapture their pathetic pasts as hippies-- sorry, make that children-- and can't resist showing off by spending more money on it than when they only had a student grant-- sorry, I mean pocket money. It's the worst day of year because there's no racing.

Have a read of the whole thing. It's very good.