Three ways to get through Christmas with the family.

Like theme-park visits, frolicking in public swimming pools and dinner at TGI Fridays, Christmas is a joyful childhood event that morphs into a living nightmare the moment you grow up. The traditional set-up is a powder keg of volatile emotions. You are thrust back into a family home that housed an adolescence of viscerally embarrassing memories, forced into close quarters with the people who have directly contributed to every deep-seated psychological issue you now carry, and burdened with an overbearing weight of expectation entitled This Is Supposed To Be A Very Nice Time. Irritation, arguments and simmering rage are practically guaranteed. You will revert to your 16-year-old self quicker than you can say “novelty knitwear”.

For the past few Christmasses, I have documented my family’s day with the moderately popular hashtag #gibbsfamilyxmas. Doing so has helped me realise that my Christmas is merrier than most. Please allow me to share my three-step plan for achieving a tolerable festive season.

Your mother will always be able to ruin your entire life with one inappropriately timed snarky comment about your new coat. Your father has some radical political opinions he would like to share while eating pigs in blankets. Your grandmother has not referred to you by your correct name at the first time of asking for the past dozen years. These people are all old, so none of them is likely to change. You’re going to have to suck it up for 72 hours. The trick is to embrace every frustrating tic and find a peaceful solution. After my grandmother said, “What’s this bloke’s name?” for the 17th time after the 17th TV airing of Slade’s “Merry Xmas Everybody” in 2013, my sister and I spent the majority of Christmas Day forcing her to repeat the words “Noddy Holder” until they lost all meaning. She can still do this on command, which is an impressive feat of muscle memory for a 94-year-old, if a slightly inappropriate answer to questions such as “Do you want a turkey sandwich?”

Identify the seat you want to make your own on Christmas Day, claim it early, do not cede territory. Comfort and familiarity will serve you well when your father greets a present he already owns with a sad face and an impression of the incorrect answer sound from Family Fortunes. (My dad did this last year, which would have been acceptable if his name were Mr Les Dennis. My dad is not Mr Les Dennis.)

It’s also important to go in with a clear behavioural strategy. Are you going to spend the day making adorable sardonic quips, or embrace patently fake ultra bonhomie? Stay consistent, use your chosen approach as armour, just don’t be an idiot about it. You will also need to determine an escape plan, a quieter spot you can retreat to when the tension reaches unbearable levels. I find a solo dishwashing half-hour works wonders. A nap is also highly recommended. Don’t be afraid to suggest one for everyone you’re spending the day with. And if that’s not enough...

The current list of drinks I now consider to be Christmas Day staples, without which the day is incomplete: a glass of sparkling wine at breakfast, a pre-mixed can of gin and tonic (ideally from your stocking, must be consumed before midday), a can of lager in the shower (life-changing), at least one glass of one of the best five red wines you’ve drunk all year, a pint in the pub, Baileys, sherry, Guinness.

The aim is to be delightfully ruined by 2.00pm, calm down a bit over dinner, have that crucial nap, then spend the evening attempting to fruitlessly recapture how amazing you felt in the afternoon.

This all serves to take the edge off any sharp angles over Christmas, and is the real purpose of the day. Opening presents gets in the way of valuable drinking time. You know what you have to do.