If there’s one thing that creeps me out about Christmas, it’s perfectly decorated trees. You know, colour co-ordinated ones that look like they’ve just been lifted out the store window of Debenhams.

I can’t abide them and for some deep-rooted psychological hang-up, I always assume people who decorate their Christmas trees this way are somehow...dangerous.

Possible chainsaw killers with a fanatical obsession for ‘control’, ‘order’ and symmetry’.

When I walk into somebody’s house at this most festive time of year, I instantly stiffen and start looking for an exit if I spot a tree laden with designer baubles and illuminated red chilli peppers.

Interestingly, I’ve got nothing against artificial trees, although they never EVER look real, and if people want a ‘Ho, ho ho-ing’ Santa complete with revolving head and vertical hand wave, more’s the better.

But I tell you what puts me in the best possible of all moods – little Christmas trees, not perfect, but a tad forlorn and raggedy, decorated with home-made angels, reindeer and Christmas puds. I love those.

I’m no hypocrite. I bought my tree for £9.99 last week at Homebase on the Botley Road.

It’s an ex ‘demonstration’ tree, beautifully straight, about 3ft tall, and already losing its needles. And I love it.

Decorated with a bizarre assortment of candy canes, Christmas hats and Barbie dolls on snowboards, it’ll see me through ’til December 25.

Admittedly, I’ve erected a six foot exclusion zone around it but, damn, it looks cute (and silly though this may sound, I LOVED carrying it home, with motorists honking and pedestrians breaking into indulgent smiles as I walked proudly past, tree on shoulder (a real man with a real fir).

As for the rest of my home, the decorations are sparse – a Poinsettia here, a yuletide log in the kitchen and some kind of wreath my parents gave me hanging from the fireplace.

Of course, if I had kids, or had had kids that were now grown up, there would be streamers, twinkling lights, and laughing reindeer.

But that doesn’t mean the magic of this season is lost on me; I still insist on wishing everyone ‘Merry Christmas’ when I step out on Christmas Day and I still cry over The Muppet Christmas Carol.

Best of all however, this week I get to go to a carol concert (‘Once In Royal David’s City’ slays me while ‘Good King Wenceslas’ leaves me strangely cold...).

Plus I’ve bought everyone some unforgettable gifts (family and friends please note).

Aah, just 13 sleeps to go.