Angela Mollard explains how to survive a family Christmas These people secretly hate each other, but they're still having a good time. I'VE long believed people fall into two camps. There are those who get breathy with delirium over table settings and witty repurposing of vintage maps and shoelaces into gift wrap. Then there are those - OK, me - who curdle inwardly at anything requiring forensic organisation, but are always up for an impromptu celebration. I'm never without champagne in the fridge and I have pyromaniac quantities of candles which I've been known to shove into a lasagne or even a packet of mint slice biscuits when a cake wasn't to hand. I'm big on celebrating the real stuff - a new job, leaving a crappy relationship, pregnancy, solving a problem, learning how to spell "embarrassed," being alive. Likewise, I regularly update my dance playlist. But anniversaries, birthdays, Christmas? Not so much. I'm one of those mad sorts who think you should have a wedding after you've clocked up 20 years together, not because you've managed the highly unoriginal and, frankly, effortless business of declaring that you intend to. Anyway, enough of my Grinchiness because when the world refuses to fall in line with your thinking and continues to rock up for turkey, pudding and the obligatory family argument, you kinda have to get on board. So I do. But not without my "How To Survive Christmas" checklist. As you can imagine, I've finessed it over the years. I love this psychological principle, whereby when faced with a tricky situation or an annoying character trait in a loved one, you simply Act As If it doesn't exist or isn't a problem. My dad, for instance, always mocks my accent, which is a dodgy hybrid due to spending my adult life in three different countries. It irks me because a) I can't do anything about it, and b) why not be proud that your daughter had the wherewithal to stride out into the world? After years of wanting to punch him, I've learned to Act As If it's just a thing he does and it's up to me whether I act up or not. A friend says her mother-in-law constantly criticises the way she disciplines her kids. She's learned to act as if her MIL is purely motivated by love for her grandchildren rather than a superiority complex. "Delusional, I know," she says, "but it works." The philosopher Alain de Botton (stay with me) recently posted a picture on Twitter of the artist Adriaen Coorte's (me neither) Wild Strawberries in a Wan Li Bowl painted in 1704. What Coorte was trying to do with the painting, argues de Botton, is encourage us to rediscover our sense of wonder about something we take for granted. A bowl of strawberries, he pointed out, is like a relationship - it's so familiar that we fail to appreciate it. Given that Christmas and January is divorce season, we could all benefit from looking with fresh eyes at that we know so well. Plus, there's always February. It's Christmas Day. Nobody needs you and you don't need anybody else. Except those you're with. I've seen off plenty of tense convos by leaving the table and hanging out with the kids. Granted, I'd rather stuff my own head in the turkey than play Barbies, but anything with a ball or bike and I'm up for it (usually with bruises). Last year we gave a darts board to my mum and step-dad. It was an ace present and an excellent tension diffuser, which is not to say my family resembles the War of the Roses. Whatever you like without fear or favour. If you have allergies or intolerances, make it your issue not everybody else's. But if you're the host, be thoughtful. People appreciate being known and cared for far more than any gift you give them. To shift 14 of the 4000 calories you've binned, obviously, but also to debrief with your partner on how much more annoying his/your family was this year. And how next year you'll stay at home. Which, of course, you won't. Always take one more bottle than you think is adequate. And throw in Christmas crackers and cherries as well - they're amazing this year. How is it that two mince pies and half a bottle of champers in, we think it's a good idea to test whether Uncle Martin is still a redneck? Leave it alone and talk about climate change instead. A celebrant I know has largely given up weddings in favour of funerals because everyone's better behaved, she reckons. I love a good funeral, especially if the departed has had sufficient forewarning to plan the music. Look, I know we're supposed to be celebrating Christ's birth, but I doubt the dude would mind, as long as we're decent to each other. My mother-in-law sends new ones every year. They're ridiculous, but I think of her happily deliberating over them in the Hot Dollar Shop and wear them in the same spirit. As enthusiastically as you embraced the host's shiraz. Next year will be better. Especially if you have the foresight to book a week in Fiji.