Nicola Adam column

Santa.
Santa.

Call me Grinch but I am really struggling to locate my Christmas spirit.

I’m sure it must be in there somewhere. Somewhere really really deep down... Thing is I, absolutely love Christmas, but that feeling is currently absent, believed missing.

My younger self would be absolutely horrified at this admission. If I concentrate I can just about access that former stomach-churning excitement that used to turn my sister, brother and I into rising at 5am, eating chocolate at 6am, festive fanatics. But every year, that memory fades, and I really don’t want it to.

Maybe my Christmas excitement has dulled due to ridiculous festive consumerism, or because I really really don’t want to climb up the wobbly ladder to the loft to get my fake tree and boxes of dusty ornaments. Maybe the annual feat of endurance that is unravelling the knotted Christmas lights that inevitably then don’t work has put me off. Or maybe I’ve just not been a good girl and Santa will not bring any Christmas joy due to my position on the naughty list.

Of course, working in journalism doesn’t help. Christmas starts in approximately June for the media when the first Christmas gift guide press releases start littering our inboxes.

By November you tend to be somewhat over it .The somewhat determined anti-festive nature of newsrooms, which rarely contain decorations (here we are limited to a One Direction advent calender with inedible chocolate) doesn’t help. The advertising department, in contrast, is like Santa’s grotto the night after a wild party. Maybe I should change career.

The irony of a newsroom Christmas is that we spend our days celebrating via our pages and websites, the many fabulous festive events and Christmas miracles happening all around us.

It is just that sometimes you can have too much of a good thing...

But I am not giving up.

In a desperate attempt, I shall adorn my house until it resembles a panto set. And if Christmas spirit is still lacking - then Christmas spirits will have to do. Cheers.