WITH every passing year I find it trickier to know what to buy my nearest and dearest for Christmas. Am I terribly out of touch or does choosing gifts increasingly feel like the festive equivalent of a gruelling assault course on a survival reality game show?

The other day I found myself hankering for a trip to Woolworths. I realise there are plenty of shops in a similar ilk still around today – The Range, B&M and Home Bargains et al – but, in truth, what I am really nostalgic for is the erstwhile simplicity of it all.

I’m as guilty as anyone of traipsing to the sprawling out-of-town retail parks but, lately, I have been yearning for the yesteryear of the high street. As a youngster I used to love catching the train into Edinburgh Waverley and visiting the shops along Princes Street.

There was a sense of place and occasion – the views of the castle, the Christmas tree on the Mound, the sparkling magic of Jenners department store – that you don’t get in a soulless and generic mall.

I remember a similar thrill when we would hop on a train from Lanarkshire with my gran and disembark at Argyle Street Station in Glasgow, stepping into a hubbub of colour, noise and people that made your senses crackle with anticipation.

The Herald: Shoppers crowd a Woolworths store during the Christmas rush of 1955. Picture: Charles Hewitt/Picture Post/Hulton Archive/Getty ImagesShoppers crowd a Woolworths store during the Christmas rush of 1955. Picture: Charles Hewitt/Picture Post/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Perhaps that is rose-tinted specs. A sure-fire sign of getting older is trying to paper over the cracks of modern life with over-egged sentimentality.

Either way, this year I have done much of my Christmas shopping online and there is something depressingly detached and soul-sapping about that too.

No matter that you are trying your best to support small, independent retailers in these precarious times, it is still a largely 2-D experience.

READ MORE: Susan Swarbrick: Netflix romcom A Castle For Christmas isn’t all bad. Oh wait …

Then there is the quagmire to wade through, from endless poring over ingredients listed on packaging to fretting about carbon footprints, sustainability and ethical sourcing – all vitally important, yet that doesn’t make it any less exhausting.

Maybe there is too much choice? Maybe there is too little? Maybe I am fatigued by the prospect of a second pandemic Christmas. Maybe we all are.

Speak to anyone about their favourite festive memories and the same thing rings true time and again – it is always the simple moments that stick in the mind, rather than big elaborate gestures or expensive gifts.

The old adage goes that perfectionism is the thief of joy – something I often fall foul of myself – and never is that truer than at this time of year when the pressure to create an idyllic, picture-postcard Christmas reaches ridiculous levels.

READ MORE: Susan Swarbrick: Am I becoming grumpy or is everyone very annoying?

There are folk with to-do lists longer than Santa’s naughty roll call. Mainly mundane tasks like tracking down artisan cheeses or cleaning all the skirting boards when, brass tacks, none of that really matters. This year I intend not to collapse in an exhausted heap come Christmas Eve.

Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of The Herald​

HOW TO BECOME A HERALD SUBSCRIBER

For just £2 for two months, you can instantly read your favourite writers including Susan Swarbrick, Teddy Jamieson, Alison Rowat, Mark Smith, Vicky Allan, Russell Leadbetter and Barry Didcock, as well as Ron Mackenna, Rab McNeil, and the (in)famous Herald Diary.

Subscribe to The Herald and don't miss a single word from your favourite writers by clicking here