GOOD morrow, my friends! Holiday wishes to one and all just two days before Christmas!

Such a joyous time is this that it is easy to forget the true meaning of Christmas – spending time with our loved ones.

So please, dear readers, can we have a minute’s silence to honour all those people who will be spending Christmas alone this year?

Ssssshhhhhh. (Dramatic pause followed by rustling.)

Well really, it was just to give me a few seconds to finish off this tray of Ferrero Roches that I’ve been working on.

Oh, Ambassador, you are really spoiling us. By Ambassador I mean the one work colleague who actually bought me a Christmas present that I appreciate and haven’t utilised as a basketball while imagining my bin is a hoop.

That’s very mean of me, isn’t it? Where is my Christmas spirit? I’m going to fish it out and re-wrap it and give it to my marra.

If she asks why the bath smellies are covered in used tea bags I’ll just have to say that they’re herbal – you use them on your eyes while you’re taking a deep soak in your B&M bath salts.

The most unfortunate part of Christmas has, and always will be, Secret Santa.

Every single year I get some soaps and shower gel from some unimaginative imbecile at my workplace.

I don’t think I have an issue with body odour (or at least I hope I don’t), so I can only assume that whoever bought me the dullest gift in the world was a bit cashed strapped and couldn’t afford the diamonds that I deserved.

Unfortunately for me I ended up with a guy this year as the recipient of my Secret Santa.

I cannot buy gifts for guys. I never know what they want. Well, I do know what they want, but seeing as I’m not a super model or a giant bottle of Bud then I doubt they’ll want me!

They’re very simple creatures that appear to avoid any intellectual or humanitarian pursuits so my gift needed to reflect this.

Should I purchase some socks (my go-to gift for any guy)?

Should I just get a bumper pack of beers or one of those pens that you turn upside down and the lady strips to her undies?

I decided to play it safe and got a tie and some humorous – i.e. offensive – cufflinks.

I can only assume that this didn’t go down too well because I was the only one who hasn’t been invited to the Boxing Day festivities.

Maybe I should have made more of an effort when it came to buying for the manager.

It’ll be okay, though, I don’t mind being by myself on Monday night.

I’ve got myself some Bernard Manning turkey drumsticks (Manning? Matthews?). I’m guessing they are Bernard Manning ones because they made a rather lewd comment when I picked them up out of the frozen section.

So, please spare a moment to think about me over the Christmas period and whether I’ll be having much fun, particularly on Boxing Day.

If it’s so bad, I’ll just have a bath with my Bernards.

Happy Christmas!