The season of goodwill is upon us, heralded by such recognised phenomena as the first carol on the radio, Xmas lights in the high street and the first heap of Christmas cards in the shops. The first two are relatively innocuous, the third about as deadly as a bidet full of piranha fish. Christmas, we all know, comes but once a year, but it comes over the horizon as early as October when the first cards go on sale. (Do people still send their cards to Australia by sea?) Then the “free” gifts start to arrive from diverse charities containing two cards, a biro and a few seasonal stickers, which you really can’t send as everyone else will have received the same package and will therefore know where they came from. They will also suspect that you didn’t send a donation back either.

The combination of ritual, tradition and the social equivalent of Russian roulette is indeed upon us. Yes, it's nice to stay in touch, though I make a point of sending an e-mail during the summer vacation to my real friends, including a shot of me in some exotic location along with a small note of key events and maybe lining up some things to do together in the Autumn. I do not like the photocopied round robin recounting the year's events, as it is a bit too close to a press release and invariably only gives the good news, which just leads me to worry if one doesn’t arrive this year, as it shows that someone must be in trouble. Even worse is when there is a year’s break and the card comes signed by one or other of husband and wife, and more than curious if it comes signed by one or the other – with a different name attached. In my own notes I always add a touch of realism about what is not going so well besides the success stories (if any). The curious part is I have been getting cards from some people for the last thirty years, without receiving any real news from them in all that time. But the handwriting is still firm, so at our age that can only be a good thing.

The difficulty arises with the card at work. How large should it be? How gaudy? Do you go for a jokey one, tinsel and mistletoe or something festive but solemn? I dislike this thing about "happy holidays" as that could be said at any time of year, but we deal with all sorts: some only go to church for Christmas (and probably Harvest Festival as well); some keep Christmas as a vestigial religious occasion; most go for the festivities and some even seem to enjoy them. A few observe Christmas but not at the same time of year, and others belong to a bewildering array of faiths and religions. I go through the files for the year and send cards to clients great and small, usually without a message. In fact there is a nice printer near me who does personalised cards so I can add any generic message I want. In some cases (debtors in excess of 60 days for example) I can send the card wrapped round a stick of dynamite. I usually gain the moral heights by sending my cards out first, but that is simply because I have to get my overseas items in the post by the first week in December. Theoretically that gives me time to respond to the ones I have forgotten but there is no protection against those wretches who send me their cards cunningly timed to arrive on Christmas Eve. I am only half convinced that they don't do it on purpose (I've done that myself on more than one occasion, after all...).

All of this is bad enough at home (though if my friends worry that my handwriting looks a bit spidery this year it is probably because I have been writing my cards on the train to save time.) But what if you are senior enough at work to be obliged to send your own seasonal cards to clients, colleagues and faithful staff, thanking them for their devoted service during the year? Hopefully there will be a press office to take the matter out of your hands (and charge the cost against your departmental account). But you still have to decide who is to get the official card, and if the people in the press office have excelled themselves and produced something this which includes Brussel sprouts, giant baubles or Santa on the top of the head office building, then you may find yourself heading for the nearest charity shop for something anodyne but acceptable to all, such as the Dove by Picasso. The message inside the card of course will have to be equally anodyne, based on Season’s Greetings rather than any reference to the Christmas Message (though why “Peace on Earth, Goodwill Towards Men” should upset anyone is quite beyond me).

Then there is the ritual annual exchange with people you haven’t seen for years, you would no longer really wish to meet and who can have no possible influence on matters of work as they go back to when you knew them three jobs (and quite possibly that many decades) ago. Of course, some of them now must be in their eighties and have quite possibly gone gaga (you had your doubts about the sanity of some when you were working with them all those years ago) but your conscience tells you that they might say in their card how nice it is to stay in touch with the world of work, or even the old days (which are still all too contemporary for you). So one year you tentatively drop them off your list, only for them to send you a card on the 23rd December with a cheery note to say that they nearly forgot to send their cards this year (see note above). That’s OK if you are still in the office, where most things have long since ground to a halt (some years I seem to have as many cards waiting for me on the 27th as I did the week before). But if it hits your doormat on the 23rd then you have clearly been outmanoeuvred and the only solution is to send a New Year card after January 1st and add a few items of interesting news (which usually revolves around how many of your former colleagues are still alive or “bearing up”).

Then, worst of all, there is the hierarchy of Christmas cards. Should you send cards up the line or wait till your elders and betters signal their approval of you and deign to send one down to you? Or will it look as if you are toadying up to senior management if you do? You decide not to, but then notice as you go along the top corridor that one of your rivals has sent a card – and it is in a position of prominence (she probably moved it on the way out of a meeting, but even so…).

Of course, if you have received a card in the past, but not this year, this could well be some Kremlin-watching manoeuvre with you on the way to becoming an Unperson. Is this a polite way of telling you to start sending Christmas cards to people who might be able to help you out of a hole and up the ladder elsewhere in the New Year? Perhaps you ought to slip in a CV to save the postage. So go ahead but don’t use one of your regular Christmas cards in case one of your contacts happens to mention this to someone you both know, in which case your own petard might well be hoisted in an uncomfortable fashion.

So season’s greetings and have yourself a Joyous New Year – always supposing that you survive the next few months.