The trials of the office party, train journey home and unwanted gifts – and what you need to do to deal with them.

It doesn’t matter how tinselly you are; at one point or another, the festive season is going to get on top of you. And when it does, it’ll crush you like a ton of bricks. You’ll look around at all the lights and people and noise, and you’ll wonder when it’s all going to end.

But, look, you can handle it. It’s just holiday cheer, after all. Here are five of the most common flare-up points for festive rage, along with a guide to deal with them.

The world would be much happier if it abandoned the myth of the work Christmas party. Although there will inevitably be the stereotypes who drink too much and embarrass themselves before their superiors, these will be fringe characters. Everyone else – you included – will be stuck making interminable small talk until it’s appropriate to leave. But here’s a secret: nobody cares about you. Pop in, say hello, then get out. Nobody will even notice, I promise.

If Christmas is about anything, it’s about eating and drinking in such tremendous quantities that you’ll fall weeping on the first bit of broccoli you see in January. The sensible way around this is to exercise moderation, by not really ramping up your intake until a couple of days before Christmas. But that obviously isn’t going to happen – everyone knows that your liver and colon will be respectively struggling under the weight of booze and Miniature Heroes long before you’ve even cracked the advent calendar – so you’ve got no choice. This is the time to knuckle down and really commit to the abuse that you’re heaping on your body. There’s always next year to abuse your body with Lycra and calisthenics.

From 22 December, every train leaving London will be like the last helicopter out of Saigon, as millions of people journey back to their hometowns. If you’re caught on one of these nightmarish hell-rides, then unlucky for you. However, you can make things slightly easier for your fellow passengers (and hope they do the same). Why not cut down on your bulk by ordering everyones’ presents online and getting them to arrive at your parents’ house? Or – and I realise this is a radical idea – why not move your giant backpack from the empty seat next to you and let someone else sit down, you catastrophically selfish idiot? Just a thought.

It isn’t really Christmas unless you’ve laboured through at least one agonising conversation with some dolt who you’ve spent the rest of the year actively trying to avoid. This is where the thousand-yard stare comes in handy. Disconnect. Glaze over. Go to your happy place. Lark around in the meadows of your mind for a while. When you re-enter the room, Keith and Margaret will still be in the middle of their anecdote about their recent trip to the vet, but at least you’ll be slightly closer to death.

Nobody ever gets a 100 per cent hit-rate at Christmas. There will always be at least one gift that’s unsuitable or ugly or just too big for your stamp-sized apartment. How you deal with it depends on who gave it to you. If it’s someone you won’t ever see again, bin it. If it’s someone with whom you enjoy a bracingly honest relationship, ask for the receipt. But if it’s someone you see all the time, it’s bad news. You have to keep it, and let it decrease the value of your home for the rest of your life. But remember, next Christmas is only a year away. Why not return the favour by buying them something equally disgusting? After all, revenge is the greatest gift of all.