The lead up to Christmas is great, on account of everyone being badly behaved and raucous and a little bit end-of-the-world mad. We eat too much, we sing carols too loudly, we say yes to everything. If March is your polite great-aunt then December is the naughty cousin who sneaks vodka in your drink when you’re only thirteen. All bets are off. I missed the meeting/I was hungover at his nativity/I forgot to pay the bill as I haven’t opened a letter since mid-November. All the rules, all the stuff that usually fills our heads as we rush around, just for a bit has gone.
