Don’t you think that newspaper columns saying Christmas starts earlier every year are starting earlier every year?

Here we are, still in September, with 95 days to go, and already I’m writing about Christmas.

This was prompted by a visit to Clintons last weekend. They had a display of Christmas cards and Advent calendars.

Oh well. You can’t walk into the lions’ den then complain when you’re bitten.

Since then I’ve noticed a pop-up shop in Carlisle’s Lanes shopping centre which has Christmas trees in the window.

Some charity shops are already selling Christmas cards.

And, as every year, I’m not sure whether to be appalled or excited.

I’ve always loved Christmas. But three months is a long time to sustain my enthusiasm.

At my age, sustaining anything for very long becomes difficult.

In comparison to some businesses, Clintons have been remarkably patient in waiting until September.

(That was my first visit for a while: they might have had Christmas cards in since February).

On August 27 I received a press release which said: ‘This Christmas, treat your loved ones to Guylian Belgian Chocolates’ luxurious and indulgent products.’

This Christmas? That was my first day back at work after my summer holiday.

We’re often told the importance of mindfulness. But being present in the moment is not easy when your skin says sunburn and your eyes say snow.

I’ve just looked at the NHS website’s advice on mindfulness. It includes ‘notice the sensations of things, the food we eat, the air moving past the body as we walk.’

Is that wise on December 25? After sitting around a table with people who have just eaten a Christmas dinner, Brussels sprouts and all, the last thing I want to notice is the air moving past my body as I walk.

Being reminded of Christmas so early risks lulling us into a false sense of security. There are plenty of warnings that it’s coming. But too many: it’s like the boy who cried wolf.

Noddy Holder yells “It’s CHRISTMASSSSS!” And I think, no, Noddy, it’s three days before Bonfire Night.

This is a dangerous game, like ignoring final reminders until the red one arrives.

Suddenly it’s Christmas Eve afternoon and I’m dashing into Clintons for my cards, and struggling to find them among the Valentine’s cards and Easter bunnies.