The whole family is here and everyone is armed with some seriously potent warm mulled wine, that is except for the children who are sipping their eggnogs, giggling and crashing about.

You look out of the window past the intricately decorated tree, this year you’ve gone the extra mile, baubles that cost a mini fortune decorate the greenery, reflecting the flickering light, a mini world of dreams and wishes. The snow flakes in the blackness light up, soft pads of delight making you cosier in your glowing warm bubble.

The family are all excited as the anticipation is reaching fever pitch for the present opening ceremony the coming morning, and the gluttonous delights of eating so much delicious grub that the buttons on your clothes ache to be released.

Then your mind wanders as you continue to look out of the window. Out there in the cold, damp, wetness are the refugees, some may be huddled in ditches, in alley ways, or makeshift tents. Their homes are gone, a distant memory in a far away land, some are children alone with no food, money or knowledge of where to go.

Yes it’s freezing, chilled to the bone, that awful aching coldness which is punctuated with being sodden wet, clothes soaked cutting the skin, as another guard kicks you hard, you don’t feel the pain any more, your pain threshold is so high already from years of living in a war zone.

Sometimes you feel a sense of hope, that you may find some kindness, but instead you only see bared teeth, snarled noses and piercing shouts of hatred. Your humanity is stripped to the bone, and theirs is fleshy, plump and well fed.

Wow, it’s great you’re not a refugee trying to get into Europe, you remind yourself by taking another sip of wine, jiggling your toes in your woolly socks and smiling.

Christmas is going to be great this year.