THE man at the airport had a red face and he was not atone in this. We were all a bit flushed with the excitement of Christmas-time travel. Belfast Airport was full of holly and decorations. The very red-faced man was going to London for a few days. No, it wasn't a business trip actually. It was more a Quick Drink before Christmas. I admitted to being on exactly the same mission myself and we beamed at each other, like-minded people finding a similar earthling with exactly the same agenda.
Then I got frightened in case he might insist that we start as we meant to go on and drink ourselves senseless the whole way there. It's terrifying enough arriving at Heathrow sober; the alternative is unthinkable, so I put in a craven-like proviso.
"There'll be some work of course," I said, foolishly nodding owlishly at him, in case he thought I was an exclusively Good Time Person.
"Oh yes, of course, of course, there'll be some work," he said. And the magic was gone. No longer were we festive people going to see our friends. We were timid, middle-aged folk afraid of being considered lushes. We raised our newspapers in a mature fashion and studied advice on Thoughtful Christmas Gifts Guaranteed to Please.
THE only thing to do is to ring the shop in advance and ask where exactly is the department, otherwise you end up wandering like the Lost Tribes from floor to floor, and you leave utterly exhausted weighed down with parcels, things you never intended to buy.
This is not me speaking, nor indeed my internal voice. I have never been a good shopper and I have few strategies about it. But it is the voice of a Turbo Shopper of my acquaintance. And when she mentions The Shop, she means Harrods.
I wanted to buy a little coloured glass clock there and I followed the procedure. They are used to this when you ring: yes of course, you come to door five Madam, and you take the escalator to floor two and you open the door on your right and hey presto, little coloured glass clocks are on a table in front of you.
It all worked so well I couldn't believe it. There they were. And she was right to have said hey presto, the whole thing was like a magic cave, packed with wide-eyed people.
I even found a chair, a rare thing in a shop nowadays, and sat down to observe as the young people went off to wrap parcels and bite your credit card or whatever they do. Because the chair was at a desk, people thought I had an official role there.
I advised about gifts for a ruby wedding, waving them airily off towards red glass vases.
"Do you have any glass Dalmatians?" a woman asked uncertainly. I didn't think we did, I told her, I felt that the finer points of Dalmatians might be hard to highlight in glass. I suggested she should try our fine china department and she was delighted with me.
A woman asked me could I see the price on a heavy cut-glass ashtray and I put on my glasses to read it and told her it was too dear, that it would be a crime to put a cigarette butt into a beautiful work of art like that, and asked her was she sure about it?
She said that I was quite right, she wasn't even sure if he smoked or not, she was buying it as classy office furniture. So I suggested a letter opening knife with a crystal handle and she too - was delighted with me and handed me her Visa card.
"I'm afraid I don't take the money," I said loftily. "You must talk to one of the young salespeople."
"You're all so helpful here," she said and I inclined my head graciously on behalf of the staff. THE couple who had come to London for the day weren't holding out very well.
"There's a Boots at home," the man said reasonably.
"This is a bigger Boots," said the woman.
"More to walk," he said.
"Better choice," she said.
I felt they might have started the day saying full sentences and when it was time to go home it would be monosyllables.
"For your sister Myrtle?" she said.
"Yes?"
"I thought of vitamins, you know you can get lovely little bottles."
"Vitamins? For Christmas?" He was genuinely bewildered.
"Well it's more thoughtful than soap," she said.
IN the cafe there was a lot of list-checking and speculating and concern. Two women were particularly angst ridden.
"You see she thinks she's getting a real Dalmatian puppy," said a woman with lines etched into her face.
"Why should she think that?"
"It's that school she's in, apparently it's the present this Christmas, but not in our house."
"No you can't, it would pee all over the place," said her friend.
"And yelp," said the mother.
"And maybe be sick," said the friend who, it is fair to assume, was not an animal lover.
"What am I going to tell her?" the anxious woman bit her lip.
"Tell her the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals people and the Battersea Dogs' Home say you shouldn't give a puppy for Christmas."
"Very meaningful to people like you and me but try telling that to a nine-year-old on Christmas Day," said the lined woman who knew that there was a lot of trouble ahead.
WHEN I got round to having the First Quick Drink Before Christmas, we were in this pub where a gloomy young man was telling the barman how much he hated the festive season.
"I call it the festering season myself," he said, pleased with the sort of pun.
The barman was a man who had his own line of conversation and kept to it relentlessly Christmas had all changed. Some of the supermarkets were going to stay open 24 hours a day before Christmas. Pure greed. Of course people like Asda said it was to give hassle-free shopping but it was really to get more hassle-free money. That was the name of the game.
"Festering Season" the young man said again, rolling it around and liking it more and more.
And there were going to be trains on Christmas Day. Imagine, in a land where traditionally they closed down for 48 hours and let the railway people back to their families, now they would have to work as if it was an ordinary day.
"Prevent them festering at home," said the young man. "The trains to and from Gatwick are free you know, paid for by British Airways apparently, and they even give you free mince pies on them.
For the first time the worlds of the barman and the young man connected.
"There's an idea, maybe I could keep going out and back to Gatwick all day eating mince pies for nothing, he said, the first smile of Christmas on his face.