It’s well known that there are two words which are banned from my vocabulary until October. Not even a whisper or passing reference is allowed within earshot because both have me wrapping my hands around my ears and shouting “Not the P word.... or the C word.”

But as October has dawned, the inevitable has happened, as if all and sundry have been girding their loins, just waiting for the clock to pass midnight on September 30, ready to pounce.

Mr Greedy very casually brought the C-word up in conversation. “My sister rang,” he said conversationally, not daring to meet my eye, “and wondered what we were doing for Christmas.” My head shot up immediately and nearly swivelled, poor man.

“I know it’s still a long way off, but it’s good to plan these things in advance,” he continued bravely. On venturing into work, the phones started ringing, and the P-word was then broached. “Now that it’s October I thought me might talk about the pantomime."

There’s a reason I’m so grumpy about it. Not because I don’t love Christmas, but because if you let it, you could talk about it all year.

There is a time and a place for Christmas, traditionally December 25, and I don’t want to talk about it on holiday in August or during May half term.

“You know we don’t mention the C-word,” is a great way to postpone the inevitable and have a more relevant, seasonal conversation, anything actually apart from who’s going where and when for Yule. Because it’s as predictable as smelly sprouts or an overcooked turkey. It’s the one day of the year when people will discuss for hours on end if allowed.

Not the fun bits like presents or parties, but the logistics, the endless wrangling, compromising and in our case driving all over the country trying to keep everyone happy.

Because however hard you work, you never quite get it right, and every January we have the same conversation – let’s not do it like that again.

As for the P-word, the pantomime would take over the schedule for six months if allowed.

It doesn’t leave much space for manoeuvre, spontaneity or unpredictability.

I remember meeting a bloke in our local pub last year who said he was going to spend Christmas in a hotel with his wife and had booked a gourmet lunch. Imagine all that solitude, refinement, proper food, lack of chaos, no screaming children and needy in-laws, harassed husbands and irritable neighbours. Just peace and tranquillity.

And then the penny dropped that I would absolutely hate it, because that’s what Christmas is all about, getting excited, planning the day, over-eating,-over-drinking, over-compensating, and then sitting in your kitchen late at night surrounded by small plastic toys and acres of wrapping paper, nicely sozzled, and delighted that you somehow managed to pull it off one more time.

So anyway, what are you doing for Christmas........Pantomime anyone?