YOU know the festive season is nearly upon us when the dulcet tones of Shane MacGowan seem to emanate from the speakers every time you turn on the car radio.

And you can’t walk into a shop without Slade wishing you a Merry Christmas or Mariah Carey claiming that all she wants is you. It seems to start earlier every year.

I got into the car in November to head off to the supermarket, unsurprisingly not feeling remotely in the holiday spirit, only to find Wizzard wishing it could be Christmas every day. In November it makes me grumpy – it simply isn’t Christmas every day, and no amount of wishing from Wizzard is going to change that.

Plus, it dulls the sparkle a bit if you try to stretch it too far.

But there’s a transformation that comes over me as soon as we hit the magic month.

In December, I love a good Christmas song.

And when I drive home to Cornwall to see my family in a week or so, I’ll be resolutely dusting off the Christmas CD before I go.

I think I feel more Christmassy when I’m driving down the A30 singing along to Wham than I do when the big day actually arrives, by which time I’m generally a bit frazzled.

Music has a special power to evoke memory and feelings; and when the music is about Christmas, the powerful associations it brings with it are home, family and special times.

And it doesn’t have to be Elton John stepping into Christmas once again, or Brenda Lee rockin’ around the tree, it can be the singers of the school Nativity play – where there’s always one little shepherd who yells Silent Night at the top of his voice without any hint of a tune – or a heavenly choir in the cathedral. It’s something that can’t help but make you smile.

Although, there are exceptions to every rule.

The Journal’s sports reporter grabbed a lift with our photographer – who has strong and quite specific musical tastes – to go to see Salisbury meet Port Vale in the FA Cup second round on Friday.

“You know he’ll make you listen to Bob Dylan and Bob Marley all the way?” we warned.

He brightened up a bit when the photographer walked into the newsroom waving a suspiciously festive-looking CD in the air instead.

“Is that a Christmas CD?” he asked hopefully.

“It’s a reggae Christmas CD!” came the gleeful response.

It’s a long way to Staffordshire.

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