THIS year, for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t return home for the usual family Christmas.

To start off with, it felt like a bit of a novelty. It’s nice to try something different now and then.

So, instead of rushing to get the train home, I rushed to get a train to a friend’s house.

Instead of watching the endless hours of soaps (why do television bosses insist on inflicting so much misery over the season of goodwill?), I watched carefully selected movies online.

Instead of the turkey (too big, usually a bit on the dry side, let’s not bother) we had chicken.

So far, so good. But then halfway through Christmas Eve, a fleeting sensation passed through me; or rather a lack of sensation — the lack of feeling properly Christmassy.

Now many a soul has pondered the true meaning of Christmas, urging mankind to forget the relentless spending and interminable face-stuffing and focus instead on honouring the birth of Jesus Christ.

But I reckon Christmas is about one thing and one thing alone: tradition.

How could I feel Christmassy without those horrible cheesy nibble things that don’t really taste of cheese and clog up your teeth but that we plough through with almost religious conviction every year?

Where was the bottle of sherry to have a go at mid-morning on Christmas Day which always gives my mother a fit of the giggles?

Where was the trip over to my sister’s house for Christmas dinner, the hanging around in the kitchen getting in the way, drinking wine and usually being at least partially to blame for something going wrong (the year we served up only to realise we hadn’t cooked the veg was a classic)?

I felt momentarily bereft. But then I realised some of the things the pal and I had organised were pretty traditional. We had a Christmas tree, for instance. Although it was a fig rather than a fir.

And we had presents, wrapped and everything, plenty of food (though curiously, not too much so no weeks of leftovers) and far too much booze, though in the form of margaritas rather than sherry.

And suddenly the magic of Christmas descended over the house and I was filled with the Christmassy feeling I’d been looking for. And that’s when I had my revelation: traditions have to start somewhere. Look at the Japanese with their Christmas KFC, which became a tradition simply because Takeshi Okawara, the manager of the first KFC in the country, invented the idea of the “party barrel” to be sold at Christmas back in 1970. Now the Japanese queue around the block to get their festive fried chicken.

So dressing as an angel to open my presents, margaritas before lunch, donating gifts to the dog tree (don’t ask), giving all of the pigs in blankets to the dog and leaving none for the humans... all these things could well turn into the traditions of the future. Which in itself makes me feel all Christmassy.

What we need is a law for buildings

I FEEL weary. If I had the energy I’d put a petition on the government website calling for a new law to be created called something along the lines of The Abuse of Historic Buildings Act.

It would mean people who get to make decisions about any building that is beloved has to have documentation that they have more common sense than a fly in a jar of jam, more consideration for their fellow residents than a rat with plague and an actual appreciation of buildings and history.

This would mean that buildings like the Health Hydro in Milton Road would not be at risk of being gutted and turned into flats.

And none of us would have to moan about the council and its appalling attitude to our buildings of note and I wouldn’t have to keep banging on in this column about how they should get their great big mitts off our heritage and go back to planning sneaky ways to give themselves whopping great pay rises while farming out the workload to others.

And a happy new year too

RIGHT. That’s the end of Christmas and despite banging on about it above, the word shall not pass my lips again until next December.

Or possibly August when I moan about all the Christmas gear already being in the shops.

It’s time to turn our attention to 2017, a new year and hopefully one less brutal than this when it comes to robbing us of famous faces.

As for resolutions? I’m going to try to see the positive in things rather than being so negative... mind you, that might make for a very boring column. Mmmm. Watch this space.