While people were opening Christmas presents this morning, I was commuting. Dublin looked eerily beautiful, quiet and empty and silent in a post-apocalyptical fashion. I was yawning under my umbrella, dreading the early morning hours. It's just another day, really. My birthday was yesterday and I spent it at work and at the pub (where I talked about Downton Abbey Christmas Special with Allen Leech after bumping into a shopaholic Conor McGregor in Grafton St and missing Bono and Glen Hansard singing in the crowd), then got home to a hungry Alsatian and Marks & Spencer luxury roast (that stuffing...!) waiting for me in the fridge. My canine flatmate looks content and the Christmas tree resembles a little red light district. There's no mulled wine, only Bushmills. I honestly think that the only time I was happy during Christmas time was when I was a kid and that the best Christmas was the one I've never had (I wonder if it's yet to come or if it will only get worse as the years pass by...). When we're kids we are happy simply because it's Christmas, and that's it. No expectations, just excitement and euphoria. It feels weird being an adult at this time of the year, specially when so many people you love are away. Whether you feel lonely, heartbroken, hungover, miserable, homesick or penniless... Christmas will only intensify the whole feeling factor. Passing out and falling asleep becomes the same thing and you wonder why a drooling dog is the creature you identify with the most. Filthy animal alright. Now, let's all listen to this and chill.