The ghost of Christmas hangovers past.

I love Christmas and New Year. But how things change.

It used to be about getting plastered on Xmas Eve with my pals.

To the extent I would have to be kicked out of bed to sit at the table for lunch, and between courses often my head would droop until my red hungover face slumped onto the table.  How mum and dad resisted giving me a good cuffing is a miracle.

Then became more about family when the wee sausage arrived in my life.

Now the wee sausage is 16 and well you can imagine we are living in the set from Kevin the teenager.Tonight will be fraught with clenching as he heads to the street party in Edinburgh and I remain calm – on the surface – knowing what I was like at that age I am happy in the knowledge he is far better behaved but still it seems like only yesterday and so I shall drink to forget.

So how have I changed over the years?

Well obviously I look the same – except more wrinkly, puffy and drooptastic.

I am mostly sober on Xmas Eve – sort of, but the real sea change is the type of gifts I used to hate I now crave.

My top gifts in the past would include a bottle of gin, another bottle of gin, some tonic, crisps, make-up, music, music, music, Donny Osmond and a voucher for a taxi to drive me round my favourite pubs.

This year I got a pair of slippers from Fatface and Keith Richards autobiography.

Never been bloody happier frankly.