Tis the season to be jolly by all accounts, but - honestly - I usually end up having a massive bawl on Christmas morning. I'll let Ricky Gervais explain why. In the interest of sincerity, it's best if the voice in your head reading the below isn't Ricky's, 'cause then you run the risk of imagining David Brent being overly sentimental - perhaps go with Judi Dench or Kenneth Branagh instead.
"[I'll be] eating and drinking too much with friends and family. Celebrating life and remembering those that did, but can no longer. They are not looking down on me but they live in my mind and heart more than they ever did probably. Some, I was lucky enough to bump into on this planet of six billion people. Others shared much of my genetic material. One selflessly did her best for me all my life... That's what mums do though. They do it for no other reason than love. Not for reward. Not for recognition. They create you. From nothing. Miracle? They do those every day. No big deal. They are not worshipped. They would give their life without the promise of heaven. They teach you everything they know yet they are not declared prophets. And you only have one. I am crying as I write this. It usually gets me this time of year. That's what's special about Christmas. It's when you visit or reminisce about the ones you love. And reflect on how lucky you are. How they helped shape you."
Couldn't have put it better. And if most of you reading are lucky enough to have your parents around for Christmas, give them a big cuddle - even if they are driving you completely bats by dinner time.