It’s that time of year when you open your Christmas cards with apprehension.

Will they contain exploding glitter? Will it open to Away in a manger being played on a Stylophone (too soon)? Or will it contain a round-robin letter?  Personally, I’d prefer to have shards of glitter imbedded into my face rather than receive a letter from a frightful family I’d met on holiday in 1968.

Cards are more imaginative these days.  The actual card is certainly less flimsy. 

In the early ‘60s, deposited through my Balham flat letterbox, would be an envelope.  Inside was a card featuring a robin, covered in snow, chewing a sprig of holly; the card also felt like it could disintegrate at any moment.

I’ve friends in Germany and have received cards which, when opened, played oompah music to the tune of Jingle Bells. 

I felt like I was in a Bavarian beer house, especially as there was scratch ‘n’ sniff Glühwein on the envelope.

I’m lucky that I wear glasses as some cards open out with such force, it could have my eye out – and no one wants to be in A&E at Christmas asking for a pretend antler to be removed from both pupils.

And now I have to write to all my “friends” to tell them about how Melissa and Persephone are now doing Grade 4 castanets and the pet Labradoodle is nearly fluent in Esperanto.