The credit card bill accrued during our holiday is occupying pole position in our letter rack.

It lurks there, glowering accusingly at me, waiting to be paid.

What worries me, though, is that the euro over-expenditure we incurred was for a late summer break.

Yet, increasingly, this now seems like a distant memory because everywhere I go I'm getting constant reminders about the advent of Christmas.

Deep in the heart of Broadmead one large nationwide chain has already embarked on its three-for-the-price of two festive gift sales drive.

Another has precariously stacks of fancy tins of biscuits, aimed at the same early-bird market.

They are certainly out there and easy to spot.

How? It's the one standing next to you at the check-out who is buying four boxes of cherry liqeurs. Nothing else.

The card shops are not standing still, either. They, too, are bulging with images of jolly robins and snow covered thatched cottages.

While in the office this week we have received a press release urging us all to buy ourselves some life-size advent calendars. One featured a slightly cock-eyed, less than genial-looking, Santa, hovering by a giant cardboard chimney stack.

Popping out of this bit of make believe brickwork was a full-size toddler. Yes, it was that big a calendar.

Who has room for that in their living room?

In the office we have also already held discussions about the potential destination for this year's Christmas night out.

Worrying for Christmas caterers everywhere (for I suspect we are not alone in our thinking) is the fact that high on the list of everyone's credit crunch priorities was an insistence that any place our little band chose to grace with its custom would have to be a bring-your-own bottle establishment.

It's a sensible economy drive, so long as you're not the one left with no option but to drink someone's £1.50 bottle of low alcohol Liebfraumilch, because the chateau bottled French red you brought along to sup has been snaffled and slurped at the end of the table furthest from your seat.

This appallingly premature festive planning has even involved some family deliberations.

Because, this year, there's a dilemma taking shape. Should we stay in our own home? Or, should we, take up an invite from youngest daughter for all the family to spend Christmas Day with her.

I am quite up for this, even though I know I'll still end up doing the washing up.

It would be something of a momentous move. You see, we have a long-established festive format which we have followed to the letter since the aforementioned daughter was still in nappies.

Going to her place will throw us out of synch completely and there will doubtless have to be a few family summit meetings to debate the issue between now and December 25 .

If you stop and think about it, this ever-accelerating helter-skelter through each and every year is ludicrous. Perhaps we should all slow down a bit before this wishing our lives away gets really out of hand. For example, during a chat with someone just back from their annual fortnight in balmy Ibiza, they informed me they had already decided next year's summer vacation would be in Tunisia.

Ah, well, roll on 2011.....