As Slade once told us and have reminded us every year since, the festive season is well and truly upon us and this will be my last musing before diving headfirst into the turkey, tinsel and blizzards of wrapping paper and festive excess.
Christmas means many things to many people - some love it, some hate it and some are indifferent.
In this time of peace and goodwill to all men, we should remember that not everyone harbours the same feelings at drowning in a sea of non-stop Wizzard, Ritz crackers and advocaat.
But that’s a topic I’ve already touched on.
By now, many of you reading this will have enjoyed (or suffered, depending on your mood) the annual office Christmas party.
Some are probably reading this through their fingers, thoughts of an unfortunate drunken incident with a photocopier and several of the finance department after one too many beverages coming back to haunt them.
You’ll be pleased to know I was well behaved.
We headed to the streets of Doncaster and a pleasant evening of food, frivolity, dancing and the odd glass of sherry was enjoyed by all.
I’ve done plenty of these gatherings over the years and am well-versed in the etiquette. The general rule of thumb is enjoy yourself - but don’t be the one that’s the talk of the entire office come Monday morning.
You have to work with these people and oh yes, they will gleefully remind you of your idea to do Jagerbombs, shortly before you are found crying dishevelled in a pool of your own vomit on a toilet floor at every given opportunity over the next 12 months.
Office party regulars will know the drill by now.
Much to-ing and fro-ing over the venue, grumbles about prices, grumbles about dates, grumbles about the menu, people not paying their deposits, forgetting what they’ve ordered - and the usual end of night carve up when everyone chucks their money in a great big pile and someone manages to get away without paying through sleight of hand because the pot is £20 down.
And that’s before you have even left the venue to “move on” and the infamous “let’s go here,” “no, let’s go here” arguments conducted on draughty street corners get under way.
I’m far too old and sensible to be venturing out on what’s commonly known as Mad Friday this week- when gangs of men in bad taste Christmas jumpers roam the streets, clashing with other gangs of men in bad taste Christmas jumpers while gaggles of girls in sexy Santa outfits look on over their Bacardi Breezers.
I’ll be safely tucked up at home with the Christmas Radio Times, a few cans and a bag of peanuts.
Thanks for reading - all that remains is to wish you all a very Merry Christmas.