As we are all too aware, Christmas has its down side. The expense, the organisation, the crowded shops, the seasonal rush for the most coveted toy (generally costly and grotesque), the number one song (sounds the same every year)...I could go on.

But these are minor irritations compared with the sudden onset of the worst seasonal excess - Christmas Niceness.

The phenomenon starts with a vengeance on or about the middle of Advent, when the world suddenly becomes a place of good manners and politeness, when jovial greetings replace grumpy grimaces, when kindness and warmth replace hostility and standoffishness, when "nice" becomes the buzzword.

For the sheer volume of niceness, it's unlike any other time of year - but it shouldn't be. Take my local store. For more than 11 months shoppers are made to feel about as welcome as a United Nations weapons inspector at Saddam Hussain's Christmas knees-up.

The shopkeeper doesn't take his eyes off a wall-mounted TV to look at you, let alone make conversation (I didn't dare go in during the World Cup). The atmosphere is so bad it's become a joke within the community.

But come mid-December, this Victor Meldrew of the retail trade begins opening doors for customers, helping them reach goods from top shelves, chatting - being nice. It happened last year and it's happening again now - and I predict it will end as quickly as it began, on January 2.

People are too nice for their own good at Christmas. Friends you haven't seen for ages write and ask after you and your family. I always wonder, don't they get curious in March, June, or September? Nope. But every Christmas the same nice letters arrive from the same people, asking the same nice questions.

Are they really interested, I ask myself? Do they really care? It's hard to judge people when they're under the influence of Christmas Niceness.

You could always apply the True Niceness Test: write back with news of your third divorce, your touch-and-go triple heart bypass and that narrow escape when your home was destroyed by a stray meteorite. If it's genuine niceness, they'll ring you the minute they read it. If it's seasonal pleasantries, they won't respond. But you'll get the same run-of-the-mill letter next Christmas.

Niceness has even seeped into the scrum for car parking spaces at my local supermarket. "No worries - you have it, Merry Christmas," chirped a "nice" young man as we jostled for the one remaining gap last night. Had it been a month earlier, or later, the scene would have been violent and bloody.

I'm not knocking niceness - I'm all for it, if it's for real. But when it's dripping with tinsel and baubles - no thanks.

No wonder Ebenezer Scrooge stuck out like a sore thumb. The rest of the year he was probably just a regular guy - mean and moody perhaps, but no worse than the next man. But because he didn't succumb to the aura of niceness and change his character for a fortnight he was chastised.

I won't let Christmas change me. I'm going to maintain my position as a 365-day-a-year thoroughly nice person. And if anyone wants to dispute that, I'll punch them on the nose and steal all their presents.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.