When I was a kid, I loved midnight mass. I would watch Carols by Candlelight on TV then mum would give us a snack and we would head out into the night. When we got home, we would leave out a beer and a plate of biscuits for Santa, and a carrot for Rudolph, all of which would be gone by the morning, replaced by a sleigh-load of gifts under the tree.

On Christmas Day my family would gather, tell the terrible jokes from the Christmas crackers, wear the paper crowns and eat, eat, eat. Mum would cook all morning, while my dad made his annual trifle, layers of sherry-soaked sponge and jelly topped with custard.

I no longer belong to a church, so I don’t go to midnight mass. Without the larger meaning that God used to bring to the proceedings, shopping for presents makes me feel slightly sick. I walk the aisles of the local shopping centre and every bright bauble and Christmas sale sign makes me feel like I have eaten too much sugar. How can I reclaim some of the meaning of this time of year without having to hand over all my money, or sign up to a creed I no longer believe in?

To find a version of Christmas that I can get behind, I looked to its roots. As a northern hemisphere seasonal tradition, long before Christianity,........

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