The death, early in the month, of my old maths teacher at the age of 95, came as no great surprise. The quality of his life gave him no pleasure, and he was a man well prepared spiritually for the last of life's great transitions.

Much more of a shock was the death of one of his pupils, Michael Miller, with whom I had gone to primary, junior and secondary school. That this news should come through via a Christmas card six months after the event added to my sadness.

For some strange reason three evenings at my old school - Christmas concert, 'Macbeth', and 'Music and Mince pies' - didn't seem as enjoyable as last year. In sharp contrast, 'Hook, Line and Stinker' was an evening fully relished. This was my brother's version of 'Peter Pan', in which he played the part of Captain Hook's sidekick, 'Croc' O'Doyle. That name should give you a flavour of the standard of humour to which we were subjected for a couple of hours!

In the dying days of its autumn term, I made my first (official!) foray into my old school's archives. In anticipation of its 125th birthday next year, I had been asked to go through them looking for material suitable for display. What they really meant was that I was old enough to know what I was looking at!

At about the same time, I completed the first draft of volume III of my memoirs. Now the really hard work begins to edit and index what I have written. I anticipate that this will take me the rest of the winter. Some forays will also be needed to take photographs illustrating a few of the things described therein.

As in recent years I spent Christmas Eve quietly, thinking happily of Christmases past and all those with whom I shall not spend it again. In particular this year, I thought of those families for whom this is their first without a loved one: my cousins Susan, Mary and Margaret; and the families of Eric Pedley, Michael Miller and former work colleague, Brian Longstaff. Modern Christmases are so frenetic that it is all too easy to forget its central message, not least because of the insidious effects of 'political correctness'. As if to support this admittedly subjective perception, 93% of the 'Christmas' cards I received were secular in nature, and it was difficult to buy any that weren't.

Nowadays the BBC is careful not to call its annual television offering from King's College, Cambridge 'A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols'. For that it certainly is not: it is a complete travesty. The two carols that the congregation were allowed to sing were accompanied by cacophonous descant from the choir. The remaining, esoteric, carols were simply a vehicle for the display of irrelevant, self-indulgent virtuosity. Even the 'lessons' contained a significant amount of secular material. I hope the Church no longer wonders why it has lost the support of the populace. It is a matter for concern that only its intolerant, conservative, 'Right' is prepared to stand out against this and other 'erosions' of our indigenous culture.

370 miles of driving over six days of Christmas festivities is a chore which is compensated for by the fun of three gatherings with friends and family - in Leicestershire, Malvern and Abbots Langley. During one of these I was afforded a glimpse of the world in which my younger relatives live. One of my first-cousins-once-removed told me that she had been to a parents' evening - for her three year old son!

Good Christians rarely mourn a death but, in the case of Benazir Bhutto, they can deplore the manner of her passing.

The beckoning new year contains three 'knowns' which make me apprehensive, never mind its 'unknowns'. Despite them all, I wish you a happy new year - and thanks for reading.