It is well known in our office that I am never at my best at Christmas. It is too expensive, I find the enforced jolly demeanour a bit tedious and age has rendered me less able to cope with the hangovers. I had a very nice time at the annual Christmas party of two of our donors last Sunday which included having to sing alongside two accomplished opera singers. The mulled wine being liberally distributed (which is in fact a warmed up punch) did nothing for my demeanour on Monday and the Christmas tree came under serious threat as I stumbled around the living room on arriving back home.
But nothing annoys me more than the "chuggers" (obsequious young charity collectors) at train stations who proliferate at this time of year. Approaching Fulham Broadway recently, I was accosted by one cheerily insincere fellow who asked for my name. "Don't worry about my name", I growled back at him. But he persisted, "Come on, what's your name?!".
"Ebenezer", came the reply, as I continued on my way.
"Have a nice Christmas" he called sarcastically after me. And I remembered I should go and see Simon Callow in his one man version of A Christmas Carol.
