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I live with Christmas’ number two fan (his mum is no. 1) and this weekend we put the tree up and made our little flat all festive.

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We also discovered that rats are scared of the sound of Michael Buble singing (or maybe it’s when trees suddenly grow inside the house). They quite like the sound of Santa Paws and extra treats.

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We also wrote cards and wrapped presents to the sound of a gospel choir singing Christmas carols and discussed which films we will watch to get into the spirit.

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We’ve started our own little traditions and have ornaments that mean something to us, like the way all the ones on my parents’ tree have meaning and a story.

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I apologise in advance to whoever gets the cards I wrote last, my handwriting can only keep it together for so long before becoming unintelligible.

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We have a mix of traditional and contemporary decorations. There’s a Nativity scene and a herd of reindeer, Santas and angels. We’ve even got our first few cards up.

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Over the last few years I’ve got quite good at snagging cards and wrapping paper in January’s sales so we’re stocked up well in advance, not scrambling about trying to grab the last pack of cards or roll of paper.

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I have a weird relationship with Christmas, growing up it was all about the Sunday School presentation and getting a decent looking Christingle orange and not having my hair set alight by my friend’s little brother (small boys and lit candles are not a good mix).

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Presents were not ostentatious or in their multitudes, we had nice things but my mum the ex-hippy doesn’t really do commercialization and she’s religious.

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My best memories are of Christmas days at my grandparents, with Grandad’s gag gifts while dressed as Santa and my Nan’s mostly sherry trifle. My cousins bickering over the post lunch TV selection, my dad sleeping off the two types of potatoes and the washing up being done in shifts.

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