There would be visits from neighbours and family all day. One set of neighbours gave me a bar of soap (not the same one) every year for about ten years. Was this a hint? The soap was put in the same drawer as the strangely coloured socks, unwearable ties, and the other soaps. If I'd been Richard Branson, I'd have started a post-Christmas bazaar. But alas, I was destined to be a teacher, not a billionaire, and these goldmines lay gathering dust in my bedside drawer. Amongst those mundane gifts, what gems there were, too: the coloured football annuals, the magical adventure books, and let's not forget the sweets.

Then on with the best clothes for the church service. The religious element never really meant much at that age. Perhaps I'd been scarred by the experience of having to play third shepherd as an infant. Standing there in my dressing gown with a makeshift headdress, terrified I'd forget my line. (I had to exclaim 'Lo!' at a key moment, imbuing it with lots of feeling). In the end, the service was, for me, more about trying (and failing) to create harmonies for all those familiar carols. I did hit a few notes previously uncharted by western musicologists, but otherwise it was not a great success.

In food terms, the highlight was the traditional late lunch of chicken or turkey with all the trimmings, ravenously wolfed down, except brussels sprouts (which, and I remain convinced, were a culinary form of divine punishment). An evening full of our favourite comedy programmes on TV, and then the tremendous rush would begin to die down, with, back in those days, at least three days before you could race to the shops to spend your money, your record and book tokens. Today, half the shops are open the next day, if not on Christmas Day itself.

This leads to my last Yuletide tale, probably the least commercial I've ever experienced. We were working years later in Eritrea, at a school in a remote valley four hours on foot from the nearest town. No jingles, adverts, or cards in sight; although I suppose the camels pulled by nomads did bring to mind the three wise men. Undeterred, we managed to catch the choir of Kings College singing their carols on the radio, and our students helped us create a makeshift tree of acacia branches covered in coloured bits of cardboard box, carefully cut into the seasonal shapes of stars and angels. A sad spectacle, but we were proud of it.