Getting crates of pop delivered, and having exotic flavours like cherryade and cream soda.
A tin of Quality Street in the kitchen from the beginning of December, that you were only allowed to open on Christmas Eve night. The squeaky colourful wrappers and the smell of chocolate when you finally opened the tin were so exciting.
Making peaks in the royal icing on the Christmas cake with the flat of a knife to resemble snow, and sticking plastic robins and Santa decorations on it. The scale was all wrong, but so what?
Foil decorations strung across the living room ceiling of our council house. They’d fall down from time to time, and you had to duck, but it turned the house into a magical grotto.
My favourite night of the run-up was decorating night. Dad would go In The Loft for the tree, and a couple of suitcases full of decorations. It was like meeting old friends again, seeing the decorations we’d all made at school over the years. Dad would roast some chestnuts and get his Christmas LPs out - Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como.
On Christmas morning, we’d open our stockings on mum and dad’s bed, and then the tree presents would be handed out, with dad reading out each label, and round of applause for each gift. We were a big family and it took hours.
Dad died last month, and Christmas memories of him are my favourite ones. He loved it.