I HAVE an awful memory. At the rate I'm going through Post-It note reminders, the rainforest population of neon yellow trees faces certain extinction.

In fact at this precise moment in time there are actually only two things I don't need reminding of: 1) Christmas is tomorrow, and 2) I'm 3,000 miles from home.

Sorry. You'll have to humour me when I say things like that. I've professed on several occasions that England is home now, and of course that's true.

But for most of us -- especially those of us without children of our own yet -- at this time of year "home" will always be the tree we first opened presents under, covered in the glittering macaroni ornaments we made ourselves.

For the most part Christmas day back in the States is pretty similar to here in England -- everyone lounging about in dressing gowns, opening presents and eating goodies off the tree like a vertical buffet table. I suppose the biggest difference is the snow. (Or in Lancashire's case, lack thereof.)

For some reason never fully explained to us by the real estate agent, the back yard of my parents' house was the only hill in the neighbourhood -- a situation we used to take full advantage of.

When the snow was right all the local kids would line up for their chance to slide down the hill, up the back porch steps, and WHAM -- straight into the back of our house.

Oh we'd try to pad things with a little more snow, add a speed bump or two ...an old mattress might have been commandeered at some point after the words 'personal injury suit' started rearing their ugly heads.

But to lose the element of danger would be to lose the thrill! (Not to mention that wonderfully numb feeling you got every time your skull made contact with the air conditioning unit.)

Why, if I had a dollar for every head injury sustained at the bottom of that slippery slope, I'd have...I'd have...sorry, what was I saying?

Anyway, the memories that have survived are fond ones of making merry with the whole family. Everyone was included in the festivities --even the cat.

Sure he'd hiss and scratch while we pinned on the antlers, but deep down Mr Peepers was all but bursting with holiday cheer.

And how could he not be with so much going on? When the weather wasn't right for sledding we'd stay in and make gingerbread houses.

It was only ever a matter of time before we got frustrated with the edible building materials and someone broke out the nail gun, but still, you couldn't argue with the results.

I remember the decorations we used to put up each year, including one to sit on the front bench outside. Mom had an impossibly large light-up figure for most holidays -- a four-foot-high luminous rabbit at Easter, for example. But they all paled in comparison to the Christmas snowman. You knew it was switched on when Boeing 747s started circling the house.

Looking back I suppose what I remember -- and miss -- the most was the magic of it all. Who could forget the exhilaration of racing down the stairs first thing on Christmas morning?

My siblings and I had a special plate for leaving out Santa's cookies and milk, and without fail, to our high-pitched delight, the cookies would be eaten, the glass would be drained, and old St Nick would even have taken time from his demanding schedule to hoover the living room!

But alas, childhood doesn't last forever. Eventually we grow up and move out and the magic is replaced with (hopefully) a simple appreciation for the opportunity to spend time with family and friends.

I'm not a religious person and I can moan about the expense and the hassle with the best of 'em.

But this little trip down memory lane has done what all the mince pies and TV specials in the world couldn't -- it's put me in the Christmas spirit.

So with that I'd like to wish you all the best for this December 25th, likewise the duration of the festive season.

May your shopping be finished, your turkey properly thawed, and your holiday one to remember.