ONE cynic tried telling me it must have been the milkman I saw my mama kissing under the mistletoe as Santa doesn't have time for any of that hanky-panky.

Another tried to convince me Jesus was actually born on the 22nd, rendering the whole event void.

I saw through their lies as soon as they preposterously insinuated that, in a cunning scheme to pull the wool over my eyes, Santa munches the carrot I lay out each year, as Rudolph couldn't fit down my chimney.

I am determined the realists peddling such pernickety nit-picking will not deprive me of my one last remaining unspoilt joy.

This statement may be an anathema to many, but here it is. I LOVE Christmas. And nothing anyone says is going to change that.

Cease with your whingeing about Christmas shopping for a start.

People might be cold, stressed and increasingly debt-ridden, but why are they putting themselves through this?

Because they want to show their love!

It might not seem like it, but the never-ending department store queue, or grumbling packed Subway carriage, is actually one huge ginormous 60s style love-in. Suggest a sing-song.

The process would be more pleasurable if everyone stopped worrying about finding the perfect gift.

Do you think the three wise men spent days traipsing from place to place comparing different types of frankincense and myrrh, before opting to save a few quid by ordering from Hong Kong on eBay?

And who's to say that if Woolworths had only one piece of gold left they wouldn't, instead of physically scrapping with someone over it, just have said "you take it, the little dude can make do with silver".

I also do not think that the shepherds were willing the star to take a detour by Braehead en route to Bethlehem.

And this was for little Jesus from Heaven who probably had standards even higher than your little Damian from Hyndland.

So stop worrying, and take a wander to George Square. Watch the little un-cynical ones rejoice at spending a sizeable whack of their Christmas money in advance for the joy of splashing around on the billiard table-sized pond/ice-rink.

They're not bothered that it's naff.

Take on board this attitude, abandon reality, and see the George Square light display not as the closest thing you'll legally get to an LSD-induced nightmare, but as a cheerful seasonal celebration.

If you manage that, enjoying the rest of the Christmas season will be easy as mince pie!