I HAVE written previously about my habit of using books and films therapeutically.

Many a storm has passed after I have deliberately watched a weepie – Imitation of Life is one of my top choices – or indulged in a re-read of a favourite book.

It’s not anything which is personal to me. I am sure many of us have harmless ways of coping with the stresses and strains of life; other people like to run or undertake vigorous exercise, some might cook, or walk the dog, or unwind by crafting or creating.

This year, things have aligned for me in the sense that I am able to cope with the grieving process for our son by alleviating some of my present sadness by watching all of my top Christmas movies and reading certain novels.

There doesn’t need to be an excuse for me to get into bed, wrap myself in one of my favourite blankets and boo-hoo my way through my own private seasonal selection.

That’s what I would most probably have done last December; now it’s performing a vital function for my mental health.

I started with a book which doesn’t make me cry, but does make me feel very Christmassy, Susan Cooper’s The Dark is Rising. This wonderfully atmospheric English young adult novel from 1984 was, unfortunately, made into an appalling, Americanised film in more recent years.

When I reach my parents’ house, my treasured copy of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol will be waiting for me to get stuck in to it.

It’s an old hardback gift edition and its fabulous illustrations are so evocative of a Dickensian Christmas that you want to leap into the scene, don fingerless gloves and a long scarf, and purchase some chestnuts.

Every family has its own favourite Christmas movies and ours come out of a box every year to take pride of place on a shelf as part of the decorations including my husband’s favourites Elf and (the rather rude) Bad Santa.

I have tortured myself by watching one of my top films of all time, It’s A Wonderful Life, three times already. It’s hard to encapsulate its genius in a few words, but witnessing George Bailey experience real trials and utter despair before re-appreciating the value of his own existence, and his importance to others, is deeply, deeply moving.

Moving on to lighter fare, I spent some time with Santa Claus: The Movie, which was released in the 1980s to dire reviews. I don’t care – I love it.

And I have also devoured The Family Man, Serendipity and the remake of Miracle on 34 th Street, in which Lord Attenborough, who died this year, is the most marvellous Father Christmas.

As a devotee of all things Jim Henson, I have saved my beloved Muppet Christmas Carol until last.

I want to be able to sing One More Sleep ‘Til Christmas when it’s actually true, then utterly immerse myself in my reverie of Christmas contemplation.