At last, a Best Christmas Album Ever, that really is. David Bowie and Johnny Mathis booming through the house on a Saturday morning. Bliss. This afternoon, The Enchanted Pig at the Young Vic. With these small joys are the season's blessings given. On Thursday night, the Christmas spirit kicked in. At The Berkeley with the cocktail posse. Given the prices and location, the fare was unforgivably dull. Vodka mixed with cucumber and iced tea. After a couple of humdingingly ghastly glasses of gloop, I opted for a smoothie with a large shot. One of the cocktailers is divorcing. She arrived forty pounds lighter, looking like Barbie. Meanwhile, a tall, portly woman was being sick in the corner. Her group was quickly and politely ejected. "That woman could have pulled," said one of our new companions. "There was a man who kept saying he wanted to touch her. He asked to buy them all champagne, but she was so drunk, she ignored him." Barbie and I exchanged puzzled looks. "Maybe she didn't like him?" I said. "But champagne! He was so rich," oozed our companion. "That's no reason to accept," said Barbie. Different schools of thought, clearly:-o Yesterday, a social in Willesden had us enjoying our first mulled wine of the season. Schools were on the agenda there, too. Lots of competitive undercurrents running through innocuous smalltalk about teenagers and exams. "I'm starting to feel it's Christmas," the youngest said. I nodded. "Me too.":-)