Soon enough, along with Santa scoffing all of the mince pies and your grandpa getting drunk and falling over, another Christmas tradition presents itself: the gridlock that is the M25. Millions of stressed-out Londoners circling the city like some kind of mad beehive, but ultimately going nowhere.
I feel my shoulders tense and let out a huge sigh. I really hoped this year would be different.
It’s started to snow now. Lightly at first, but now I’m struggling to see ten cars in front of me. I look around and manage a half-smile at a 5 year old who looks like he’s about to cry. Yep, that’s done it. He’s crying and his parents are looking at me like I just walked over and hit him, not tried to spread a little Christmas cheer.