Every year, the best time, when I feel Christmas more joyfully, is while I make the tree and decorate the house, then, as we approach the fateful date, it’s almost as if I can’t wait for everything to end.

For me Christmas is not the classic “we are all better” or “together is enough”, it is something perhaps selfish and childish. The older I get, the more I live Christmas as if I were a child. My warm and tidy room, the dog that rests after a good stroll and a bath in a frozen river, the snoring cats curled up on my belly or on the sofas, the tree and the crib that shine, the television on and…