Alex James: no Christmas carols for me One of the Oxford cathedrals holds a Christmas service that starts in total darkness. Gradually, candles are lit so that by the time the big rousing numbers come around, the whole place is bathed in a glow. We were headed for Christ Church, where the choir walk among the congregation as they sing. It's devastating. My parents trooped up from Bournemouth. Claire managed to find a babysitter and we jumped in the car. We got as far as Botley Road and the traffic was heavier than Mexico City at rush hour. Parking is notoriously tricky in Oxford, too. I once had to climb out of the car through the window and still only just made it to the theatre in time, but I've never completely failed to park before. Not until last Friday. The GPS took us to a car park but it didn't seem to have an entrance. Another sign for parking led to a dead end. "Can you try not to swear in front of my mum," I hissed at Claire as she pointed out a spot she thought I had missed. That was a disabled bay, anyway. Fifteen minutes later we were all cursing like troopers. At five past eight I dropped everyone off outside the church and spent the next hour driving around in circles. I'm not going anywhere I can't see from the top of the oak tree in the back garden until next year.