Have you bought your Secret Santa yet? My place of work has actually given up on it. It’s not the cost per se. Although what used to be a fiver now drifts closer to a tenner – we’ll manage without that half-day’s heating tomorrow to pay for it. No, it’s the fact it’s one more gift to buy that pushes me over the edge. It’s a real headache, finding a gift for a colleague you spend more time with than the wife but know nothing about. Running round North Laine with 10 minutes left before the office party. A necessary mulled wine at the Ice Rink – a mere £8 – for a breather and before you know it, your card’s blocked.

It’s my fault. I’m one of these people who always leaves things to the last minute and then pays more on postage than on the present. I’ve already made a note of the last day – special delivery guaranteed leaves on December 23. When did a simple first class stamp stop being guaranteed next day? Maybe the new sorting office in Patcham – the one on land the council’s just leased to the Royal Mail for the next 250 years – will mean I get my Spectator on time.

And what can you buy for a tenner? I always ask the wife for help – shapewear, cashmere socks, lip balm, Modena vinegar, a spice rack. I’ve a feeling I’d be in trouble if I gave any of those gifts to colleagues, or the police would accuse me of a non-crime hate incident – no laughing matter. Not to say I haven’t had some memorable gifts in the past myself. A broken mug. A scented candle that set off my cat allergy. A head scratcher. A book – yes, I like reading, but not Jilly Cooper thanks. It can work both ways. I once bought a director a mug with ‘I hate you all’ on the front. I enjoyed it, even if he didn’t.

It’s tough getting in the mood this year with the Grinch now installed in 11 Downing Street. I hate to think what Christmas music they play in government – Karl Marx doesn’t lend himself to merry Christmas tunes. Is your Christmas party being scaled back with the upcoming rise in National Insurance and gas and electricity prices? My place is having a Christmas lunch, I suspect with the hope we’ll all drink less in the afternoon. I see that as a challenge.

The outlook is so bad, I’ve been hoping to escape, at least in the mind. I’ve taken to fast-forwarding through YouTube videos of Christmas markets to decide where to go. I’ve walked with some dude and his headcam round such continental delights as Colmar, Strasbourg, Vienna, Innsbruck, Prague, Dresden, Aachen, Munich and Oslo. Strasbourg, with its old-world charm, looks the most Christmassy with the market huddled closely around the soaring cathedral. But then again, Innsbruck, on the river, surrounded by the Alps, deep in snow, comes a close second. Badan-Baden is as twee as the ending of this column. Don’t get me wrong, we have some good Christmas markets in this country – Birmingham always impressed me. Lincoln. But life’s not got so bad yet – yet – that I’m watching videos of Birmingham in my free time.

I’ll be hot footing it round to Brighton’s ‘winter fayre’. I hope they know the requisites to capture that Christmas spirit. It’s not a given. A sign that actually says Christmas as opposed to mealy-mouthed ‘winter’, preferably in German – Weihnachtsmarkt – as that automatically sounds more Christmassy; wooden huts; bratwurst; mulled wine; Johnny Mathis floating over the tannoy – ‘A ray of hope flickers in the sky’ – except in Brighton that’s more likely to be the street lamp giving out; kitsch knick-knacks to buy like coloured stars; little snow-covered houses with tiny yellow lights; scented candles; angel chimes; nativity scenes and baubles painted with Victorian street scenes; snow globes. But please, hide the portaloos.

As long as the council doesn’t get involved. Mary and Joseph would have been put up in a five-star hotel had the star stopped over our town, but the shepherds would have been laid off. And with energy prices this high, will Father Christmas even visit Brighton and Hove? What would the council sell? For a start, there wouldn’t be any lights – Miliband wouldn’t approve. Cans of bed bug spray – I hear they’re rife in the city’s housing. Fire risk assessments. Vegan sausage rolls. Guides to inclusive language. Pothole repair kits. Heat pump gift vouchers.

But then last weekend, standing outside Maycroft Manor Care Home in Carden Avenue, listening to Patcham Silver Band play, I finally felt the love. If only we could bottle it, I’d have my Secret Santa – Parfum de Patcham.