The Toxic Math Christmas Special

We had a lovely Christmas in York; its old cobbled streets looking positively Dickensian. The only thing lacking was a rabble of street orphans. The York Minster is having its east wing stained glass window restored in painstaking detail. We did sheepishly take some photos but I'm never too sure on the etiquette in churches. I have seen people asked to take their hats off. In Vatican City you can't even talk. In some holy places, women have to cover their hair. (Perhaps they can borrow something from the hat racks?) In some Russian Orthodox churches, you can even go to prison for impromptu punk gigs. It's all very confusing.

Trying to get out of York was interesting, as the station descended into the sort of deranged madness you find in disaster films. Trains - the ones that actually existed in a recognisable, tangible sort of way - were running chaotically late. Shoppers laden with bottles and bargains were left staring at digital billboards as their limited holiday time drifted away. I got on the 1357 to Manchester Airport about 20 minutes after it was due to depart. The reason for the hold up: "We apologise for the late running of this First TransPennine Express service to Manchester Airport," a stoic voice declared, "but our driver hasn't had his break yet." During the season of goodwill one has to be charitable.

Another year, another cunning attempt to disguise the taste of sprouts. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall is a firm traditionalist who steams his sprouts with whole garlic. We whipped a spoon of Boursin cheese into ours, but people do all sorts: whipped and sliced and blended beyond all recognition. Of course if you don't like sprouts to begin with then I suggest simply replace the sprouts with something you do actually like. On Christmas Day, we had a French feast including foie gras, champagne, saucisson and anchovies, duck legs and ratatouille. I had never eaten foie gras before - the tins had been secured by our French friend via Saint-Tropez. The taste wasn't too dissimilar from most liver patés and not overwhelming enough to warrant the cruelty involved in its production. But try telling that to the French.

At the start of the month, Brits spent £19m an hour over a 24 hour period on December 5th, or 'Cyber Monday' according to the Mail. This was the day the UK bought most of their Apple iPod Touch's and iPad 2's, Harry Potter DVDs and Lego. As a child, the only thing I ever desperately wanted was a replica of the Cats' Lair - the formidable fortress home of the Thundercats, complete with laser light, hidden jail and movable paws. I would have fought tooth and nail for one of those; killed if I had to. Perhaps this is how children feel about the iPod Touch nowadays? The want hasn't changed, although the technology clearly has. I never did get a Cats' Lair, by the way. I see this now as a valuable lesson on how to prepare children for dealing with life's many disappointments. Not that this has left me in any way cynical about Christmas. Did I mention Santa Claus isn't real? Happy holidays everyone.