Why do Christmas cards present a picture of a season that none of us have any experience of?

Looking at this year's offerings I see that very few depict a nativity scene with the majority showing snug little wintry scenes.

The dreams they produce inevitably feature Christmas carollers and snow, even though, for most of us, neither of these are now part of our shared experience. It is a good job that some of them have Father Christmas depicted, otherwise the true meaning of Christmas would be completely lost.

With my imagination thus fuelled, I approach the holiday with a picture of frost forming on leaded glass windows even though we have double-glazed PVC.

A large, roasted turkey on the table with not a hint of mess in the kitchen. Logs on an open fire, though we have central heating.

Snow falling on Christmas Day while a choir sings carols outside our front door. And to round it off, a robin taps his beak on the window as if to signal that all is well with the world.

It is as if I approach the season with make-believe expectations. Underneath all of this I know that there are truths written in stone:

1) I will eventually eat the strawberry-flavoured chocolate that I found easy to resist when the tin was first opened. This ceremonious eating of the chocolate that I hate signals loud and clear that I have, indeed, over indulged.

2) I know that visitors will always arrive when the best TV shows are on, usually during the last ten minutes. I will then never see that episode again, although all my workmates will continue to tell me how excellent it was.

3) No matter how careful I am during the cooking process I will always burn one feature of the Christmas meal - usually the pigs in a blanket'.

4) The board game that we bought for the whole family will only be used once. We will purchase a new game the following year and continue the process.

5) At least one gift will have some pieces missing that are vital for our enjoyment. Even though the instructions will implore me to confirm that everything is present before we use it, I will carry on in the misguided belief that I can make it work by hitting it.

I know all of this to be true, but the need to be fanciful when I think of Christmas stems back to my youth.

I recall, as a child, begging my parents to buy me a sledge even though the chance of snow was only fractionally less certain than the possibility of the jokes in the crackers being funny.

The toy sat in my bedroom and sparkled like new until the end of March when we had a light dusting of the white stuff. I persuaded several friends to drag me along the sugar-coated tarmac thus scraping all the paint off the runners.

The passage of time and much therapy have helped me to let go of other disappointments too; Like the time my best friend was sick in the newly-opened tin of Quality Street. Or the occasion that I received a Tommy Six' spy kit instead of the much-advertised Johnny Seven'.

Then there was the collection of knitted items given by grandmas and aunts.

I once received a home-made, bright orange balaclava. Not only did it make me look like a Belisha beacon but it was crafted using what I used to call itchy wool'.

I need to realise that images of snow and sleigh rides are the result of Hollywood and not reality. So what is the true meaning of Christmas?

I am so glad that Santa still turns up every year to remind us. He might need a place to stay; I wonder if there's any room at the inn?