Christmas

Christmas, for many people, began at exactly 3 p.m today, Christmas Eve. The moment when everything stops, frantic present-wrapping, mince-pie making and tree-decorating ceases and calm briefly takes hold. The reason? A single boy treble whose voice, clear and fragile as glass, pierces through the chaos with those familiar words: ‘Once in Royal David’s city/ Stood a lowly cattle shed…’. The service of Nine Lessons and Carols from King’s College, Cambridge, and its annual broadcast on BBC Radio 4 is as essential a part of contemporary Christmas folklore as stockings and Santa Claus, plum pudding and presents.

My colleagues at the commercial and chancery bar are all at their chalets in Gstaad, funded by the endless fees from Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and the family bar are out en famille in Mustique, awaiting the festive fallout — there’s something about turkey, port and the Queen’s Speech that pulls marriages apart like a pound-shop cracker, and divorce doesn’t come cheap. But for we poor criminal hacks, it’s business as usual: crime never sleeps, and never less so than when Santa Claus is coming to town. As a junior barrister I made out like a bandit. Booze flows, blood follows; office parties are a magnet to drug dealers keen to ensure that all enjoy the right kind of white Christmas.

My mother is a good woman. But on being greeted by a charming golden retriever, a shaking red bucket and the dog’s well-meaning human handler from a local animal charity, a line had been crossed, even for her. Having already put her hand in her pocket for multiple charities in the town centre while Christmas shopping – from the wonderful Salvation Army brass band playing Away in a manger and the granddaughter she sent forth with a few quid, to the ebullient veteran who offered to pack her bags at M&S for a military charity – as a pensioner with no private income, she felt there was nothing more she could reasonably offer. Dodging the dog’s (adorable) gaze, my mother took her guilt with her on the bus back home.

Time moves on so quickly and now here we are again - it’s the month when many people are focused on their Christmas shopping. So what better time for shoppers to brush up on their rights, be wary of scammers and consider the best credit card deals to make their cash go a little further. Know your rights on returns There may have been some impulse buys on Black Friday - and anyone can change their mind. So it’s good to know that shoppers will have around 30 days to return an item for a refund or store credit. It’s important to check the returns policy of the store at the point of purchase to make sure you don’t miss the deadline, or you could be wasting your cash when you think you snapped up a bargain.

Here we go again, my 40th Christmas column in a row, and it seems only two weeks ago that I filed the last one. This is a very happy time of year — parties galore, lots of love for our fellow man and happiness all around. Mind you, there is an old calypso that says: ‘If you want to be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife...’. I’m not so sure about that; in my book, the prettier the woman the happier it makes me, but I could be wrong. My instinct tells me that a pretty woman keeps a man on his toes. No beautiful woman will stay with a man who doesn’t deserve her — not in the long run, anyway. But I’ve also noticed that many — though not all — very beautiful women are not very happy. Why is that?

In another world, I would sit down at the beginning of December with a notepad and pen and make a really organised Christmas shopping list. What I actually do is commence the proceedings by searching every drawer in the house for forgotten gift vouchers. I usually start with the children’s rooms. My son and daughter, despite being brought up to count every penny, hardly ever use these things. My daughter’s school probably thinks it is setting her off on a lifetime of worthy pursuits with a £5 voucher for WH Smith awarded for good work over the year. She, however, shoves the thing in with her socks and promptly forgets about it. To her, a £5 voucher is not even the price of a Jacqueline Wilson.