IT IS hard to believe, but on Monday it will be December 1. It will officially be the beginning of the festive season. No longer will I be able to ignore the fact that Christmas is coming whether I like it or not.

Already a number of my neighbours have got their decorations up, and across the country Christmas lights are being switched on by celebrities of varying degrees of fame – from X Factor’s Journey South in Skelmersdale, to Kate Moss and Sir Paul McCartney at daughter Stella’s Bond Street boutique.

Worst of all, breakfast television programmes have started reminding us just how many shopping days there are left to the big day.

As I never tire of telling people, I am not particularly fond of the whole Christmas affair, not the big day itself anyway. Too much stress. Too high expectations. And Eastenders.

I do, however, quite like the parties that come along with the festive season, and what I like even more are the party dresses. I figure if I have to join in with all the crazy over-eating and over-spending, then I am going to do it in a sparkly frock.

However, this year, with all the economic doom and gloom, I am finding it hard to motivate myself to get out and buy any new outfits (much as Gordon Brown might like me to).

This time last year, I had everything sorted. There was a purple ruffled number from French Connection that would see me through Christmas Day and a black sequinned number hanging in the wardrobe from early October earmarked for Boxing Night dancing.

Neither of these would be touched until the occasion arrived. The same applied to the strappy silver heels and the patent leather court shoes that would complete the ensembles.

I think my obsession with Christmas clothes, and saving them for a special occasion, dates back to childhood. Back then, there would always be a new outfit on Christmas Day, not to mention a new pair of shoes. And, on really good years, there might be a new coat.

I particularly remember a double-breasted full-length French Connection winter coat hanging in my mother’s wardrobe from September one year where I would gaze at it longingly.

It would be liberated a month early after my non-stop pestering and bargaining finally convinced my mum the coat was better off on me than under the Christmas tree until December 25. Did I mention I was 21?

The way the shops are turning over stock right now, if I don’t get out soon and buy something, I will be having Christmas dinner in a bikini and flip-flops.

Of course, I could just wait it out in the hope that Santa will bring me something stylish. After all, wearing that same red suit year after year, unswayed by trends and never changing his hairstyle, he is the Anna Wintour of the festive season.