By Kokila Patel. Presents are the only thing my daughter understands about Christmas. I have tried to explain the magnitude of the legacy that Jesus left behind - one year she played Mary in the nativity play. I was the cat that got the cream, graciously accepting that my child was the only one in the class who could pull off such a major role and - that her talent was finally piercing through the teachers. Preferring to play Santa’s big toe than the Virgin Mary, she dropped Jesus on his head, and Joseph showed his distaste by picking his nose throughout the performance. So even though I try...........Christmas equals presents.

Consumerism has swallowed us up and we’ve dragged our children with us. It’s all about gifts and treats. I know Jesus got gifts, too, gold and some smelly stuff, but it wasn’t Puppy in your pocket, Sylvanian families or Baby Chou Chou. These collectable items are taking over and I need another house to put them in. I had a stamp collection when I was little and that took up one album....... yes..... Humbug.

Nowadays, gifts and treats are given out willy nilly; something for a long journey, something for learning to ride your bike, something for a good report, for reading, spelling, pooing and peeing and just getting through the week. Play hard, work hard - that’s the philosophy in West London. Times have changed. My dad used to omit the ‘play hard’ bit and simply focus on ‘work hard and that’s it’. Amen. And a good report meant a pat on the back and perhaps an extra samosa at dinnertime.

Because evidently my daughter has been deprived all year we go out with a bang when it comes to Christmas. Don’t look out for the bright star of Bethlehem.....look out for the big fat chap in red, he’ll climb down the chimney, filling huge sacks, the bigger the better, with gifts. Doing a Ronnie Corbett, I’m going to divert a touch. If you are new to the west and know nothing about Father Christmas, here’s a tip on how not to crush your child’s self-esteem. When I was little, I would be told at school that if I wasn’t good the great FC would not visit me. The dinner ladies in particular liked to harp on about this; you see, during lunch the cake and custard always went down a treat but for me liver was a no no, my tonsils just wouldn’t allow it through. Being a Hindu, ma and pa knew nothing about Mr Christmas, reindeers or even the ho-ho-ho. I waited in hope. But he never came. Back at school children boasted about their fantastic bulging stockings. Santa obviously hated me, though admittedly I was actually a very naughty girl, but that’s beside the point. I think you get my message. December is all about gluttony, greed and possessions, far less about the simple things in life. I’m the first to blame. I love to see my daughter’s face light up as she finds prezzie after prezzie under the Christmas tree. However, one hundred years ago little Tommy Tucker’s face lit up with a simple Satsuma and a couple of manky nuts in his hole-ridden sock. I think something’s gone wrong along the way and maybe Global Warming is a message from the Supreme, saying we failed the biblical comprehension and with the whole Adam and Eve scenario he’s decided enough is enough. Happy Christmas!