Every year, without fail, my nan would repeat those words to me, reminding me what a distressing time it is.

Granted, my Nan has had a pretty raw deal prior to then – we lost my granddad and my aunt in the mid to late 80’s. But while we all missed them, we still celebrated Christmas, because a) we still had each other and b) being miserable for the rest of our lives is not what they would have wanted.

But my Nan always seemed intent of reminding us all every year, how sh:t Christmas is, how its so much hassle and how she is always alone.

The most major hassle I can think of, was trying to get her a present - each year I would ask her and each year I would get the same answer "I can't have what I want" (referring to my late Grandfather and Aunt). It's gonna sound harsh, but when you ask this question 5 years on the trott and get the same answer each time, sympathy will gradually turn to "well, you're gonna get the same old smellies you got last year if you not gonna help me out here".

I never understood it. I never got why she hated it or why she had this constant belief that she was always alone.

Each year, my dad would drive over to Wimbledon to collect her, so she could see us all, open lovely presents, watch Emmerdale/Corrie/East Enders (3 programs that are rarely watched under my parents roof) and be treated to a most splendid 3 course Christmas meal courtesy of my mother. She would then stay over for a couple of nights and my Dad would take her home.

I used to think to myself “what is the hassle with that? What is it that was so hard or distressing about that?”. And after a while, my confusion of the matter would then lead me to think how ungrateful she was being.

The reason I am going on about all this, is because this morning I was thinking about it.

You see, Christmas Day, I spent most of my time, travelling from Sutton, to Carshalton, to Ewell, back to Sutton and then onto Cheam, and then onto Ewell, back to Cheam and then back home to Sutton.

Boxing Day, I went from Sutton, to Brighton, to Battle (near Hastings) and back to Sutton again. I have hardly spent any time at home and still haven’t had the chance to watch any of my new DVDs on my new glorious TV. Whenever I have been back at the flat, much to the annoyance of Holly (and myself), I have passed out on the bed.

It was probably the hardest Christmas of my life and was quite a culture shock to me. Not that I didn’t enjoy it and not that I am complaining for a minute. I am very lucky to have two great families to spend my time with.

Thing is, this year, my Nan is not quite herself anymore. Her memory is all over the place and despite many phone calls to the authorities and many visits to her GP, we have been advised that she is “ok” and her mental prognosis is fine. The fact that she calls my parents every 20 minutes and then forgets about it, is neither here nor there, but anyway – I know for a fact that she is not right (so to speak), because this year, not once did I hear her utter those words.