When I last wrote in June the year was only half full and we had the best part of summer, the autumn and the onset of winter to look forward to. The sun would ripen the corn and the berries and then the golden reds of autumn would bring the seasons together into one great crescendo. A year's symphony, which as the dying chords rang out, would echo into the crisp cold notes of a distant carol. It was a romantic view I admit, but who is to blame me. I live in a part of the country whose beauty all the year around is breathtaking and where the seasons pace themselves in measured steps of visual impact through the year.

The reality of course was to somewhat different. Summer dragged onwards, one grey rainy day following the next and then suddenly, when no one expected it, Autumn arrived and the temperature dropped, and the trees did that amazing green to golden to red to gold again thing they do and then whoops, a bit of wind and the roads are filled with clouds of falling leaves against the pale blue sky like some magic kaleidoscope.

I was pre-occupied with family matters which kept my horizons strictly limited. A son whose marriage was breaking up, a brother with poor health whose non-marriage was breaking up too, and the usual stresses and strains of survival on a small pension in a world which rewarded the greedy and criminal and the celebrity, but seemed to have no time for anyone else.

And now as December begins, the temperature here is minus 5C and the trees and grass are rimed in frost all day and my personal collection of back garden birds are breaking all records in their consumption of sunflower seeds and peanuts and break scraps and even rice left over from a rare Chinese takeaway. It is little enough they ask and the gift they bring of life and colour in these drab times is well worth their food.

So, in the spirit of Christmas Present I wish the best this season to all those bankers who have worked so hard and received so little reward for their efforts to make this Christmas such a jolly one for all of us. I look forward to them arriving on Christmas Morning with handfulls of turkey and plum pudding and shiny new credit cards.

To those estate agents who are now so bravely soldiering on to sell those few homes that are not being repossessed, I wish Good Cheer and urge them not to become downcast, it will all turn out for the best I am sure.

And lastly to all those politicians of all parties whose incompetence got us into this mess, and whose incompetence will doubtless prolong the agony for those caught up in it, may their inflation-proof pensions support them in their declining years, and may they vote themselves a heart warming cheery large pay rise as soon as the opportunity arises.

I should of course be duly grateful for our winter fuel allowance which had to go to pay for the extra fuel we used in the miserable summer and autumn, but then, one can't have everything.

And if I am forced to watch any more of Celebrity Come Dancing I might just take up my shovel and dig my own Andersen Shelter in the garden and retire to it until Spring.