HERE are a few random thoughts about Christmas. They began occurring at three o'clock in the morning while sipping mint tea next to a tree that had extinguished its twinkles for the night.

Mint tea is one of those things that my wife says is good for me, unlike say coffee, which is quite clearly the devil's own brew.

Whatever, mint tea is the only drink my body can take when cast into cruel wakefulness in the middle of the night. Too busy by half, at work and at home, that's the trouble.

So these are a tired man's observations on what makes Christmas sparkle (or not).

The biggest challenge for a man is what to buy his wife/partner.

In my experience, there is a ritual to be followed, whereby certain items of clothing are bought in a moment of foolish confidence, wrapped inexpertly and placed under the tree alongside more smartly dressed parcels.

The presents are then opened on Christmas Day, eliciting thanks and an expression of their undoubted niceness. A few days later, they are swiftly returned to the shop to be exchanged for something more suitable.

So I avoided clothes this year. Also, there had been a run on gold, frankincense and myrrh by the time I got to the shops, so other choices had to be made.

Here's hoping.

Christmas and childhood are folded over each other, the one embracing the other. Thoughts about Christmas lead to childhood.

My strongest memories concern the loaded stocking, placed on the bed in the dead of night.

The weight of the stocking is what comes back, Christmas arriving in the form of small presents hidden in a stocking, each one making its own enticing shape.

Then, in the circular way of things, you grow up, have children and carry out the operation yourself, yawning away while trying to remember who gets what, and then attempting not to repeat the year when the full stockings (or surprisingly pliant old walking socks, red of course) ended up going to the wrong children, leading to early morning puzzlement and diplomatic swapping of presents.

As an adult you see Christmas from both sides of the mirror, remembering the anticipation and thrill of childhood and setting it against the tiredness of the parent summoning up the festive spirit. Wanting to dig out something positive to say - and I do enjoy Christmas eventually, honestly I do - here are some seasonal pleasures.

The tree, always uplifting (until its needles fall); the decorations and the cards hung from looping red ribbon; being with loved ones; drinking more wine and beer than is usually thought sensible; eating too much; listening to Bruce Cockburn's Christmas album (a real ritual); listening, too, to A Festival Of Nine Lessons And Carols broadcast on the radio from the Chapel of King's College, Cambridge (unless the office or the pub make parallel demands).

That last one brings on a guilty memory about religion having something to do with all this, until something else pops up. More wine or another chocolate, perhaps?

The Christmas meal is a big part of everything, that indulgent but treasured rite whereby you eat more in one meal than you normally do in a week.

Victoria Wood, writing in a Sunday newspaper three years ago, summoned up her vegetarian Christmas: "It will be a very traditional Christmas, with presents, crackers, doors slamming and people bursting into tears, but without the big dead thing in the middle."

Our arrangements are more complicated, although not unusual these days. We have one vegetarian, so while we do still have the big dead thing in the middle, something alternative has to be provided: a small greeny-brown nutty thing to the side.

One benefit of Christmas not often remarked on is that it happens at the same time for everybody. For better or worse, for bloated or more bloated, for happy or for dispirited, we all enjoy/endure (take your pick) Christmas together.

As society seems more splintered these days, with more choice leading to people going off in so many different directions, the shared Christmas is an important part of the year, when just about everyone is following the same pattern, more or less. We're all in this together. So please have the happiest one possible.

Updated: 10:57 Thursday, December 18, 2003