Deck the halls with boughs of folly – it’s party time! The heady combination of alcohol, mistletoe, silly hats, flashing antlers, family reunions and Yuletide demob euphoria makes this my favourite time of year.

But now that everybody’s micro-dosing Mounjaro and insisting on signing mistletoe consent forms, has the Christmas fun factor dimmed?

With wars, famines, environmental catastrophes and MAGA mania, it’s been a grim and gruelling year. We’re all in urgent need of some festive frivolity, so let’s make a legal contract with each other to have as much joy as possible – a Santa clause, if you will. Starting with flirting.

It’s hard to think of any occasion at which I find flirting inappropriate – apart from mid-surgery, during childbirth, in a police line-up or at a friend’s funeral. Christmas is the one time of year when it’s OK to chat up random strangers and steer them ’neath the mistletoe. There’s only rule re puckering up for a pash: no cold sores. Herpes is the Christmas gift that just keeps on giving.

And speaking of gifts, always bring one. Unless you plan to arrive naked, wrapped in a bow, your presence is not an acceptable present. And fellas, take note – women do not consider bathroom scales or carnations bought at petrol stations to be gifts. Ditto cooking utensils; a reminder of domestic chores is a Yuletide turn off. Despite the sermons from Meghan Markle, Gwyneth Paltrow and other domestic goddesses, most females do not want to slave over home-made bread before wrapping the perfect loaf in an unbleached cloth bag and embroidering it with a homily about “infusing every moment with wonder”.

Of course, I am wondering why anybody would bother to cook now that nobody’s eating. Friends on weight-loss jabs are culinary killjoys; forget mince pies and devils on horseback, a glass of skimmed air and a sniff of a lettuce frond will now suffice.

And for those still actually eating, do not demand bougie titbits for your festive fare. A picky guest recently shunned my mackerel pâté and asked for line-caught anchovies instead. My Doritos were similarly met with a request for vegetable crisps sprinkled in Himalayan salt, no doubt crystallised from the sweat of Sherpas. What’s next? Rice cakes harvested by moonlight, one grain at a time, using golden tweezers? Devilled eggs sourced from chickens raised on ambient jazz? At these moments, a frazzled hostess has every right to utilise a string of tinsel as a garrotte.

If strip poker is suggested, be sure to keep a poker face when confronted with a neighbour’s or colleague’s saggy, baggy bits.

KATHY LETTE

But if guests aren’t grazing, how to entertain them? I’ve resorted to party games. A safe bet is spin the bottle … but only after drinking its contents for Dutch courage. If strip poker is suggested, be sure to keep a poker face when confronted with a neighbour’s or colleague’s saggy, baggy bits. Otherwise, when it’s your turn to disrobe, your goose will be well and truly cooked.

Now, from geese to turkeys – and yes, I’m talking Christmas-themed outfits. This is the time of year when women worldwide watch in horror as our normally sane and well-dressed spouses appear in T-shirts or jumpers emblazoned with inebriated elves and randy reindeer. Still, do try to refrain from knitting your eyebrows at dodgy knitwear and remember that bad taste is perfectly acceptable from December 10 to 25. Get into the Christmas spirit instead. Literally. Whisky, gin, even eggnog, helps.

And talking of alcoholic fortification, if going to a party, take a bottle. Uttering some lame excuse about “not wanting to insult your host’s wine cellar” will earn you Scrooge status. And if you’re the host, accept all vino offerings with grace. A condescending remark like “Oh, how lovely, we needed cooking wine” ensures that at least two nuts will be roasted on the fire – yours.

Another potential breach of etiquette is to bring a plus-one who wasn’t invited. If it’s a fun person, then I say the more the merrier. But it’s a hard no if your friend is going to drone on about resurfacing their driveway. Or worse, their latest surgical procedure – Christmas parties are for carol-singing, not organ recitals.

But the only real rule about Christmas parties is to have as much fun as possible without the police being called. Flirt, dance, quip, quaff and be merry. And here’s to a soft landing when you fall face down into the Christmas pud.

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