The joys of Christmas and a rebuke for Tiger!

CHESTNUTS roasting on an open fire ... Ho, Ho, Ho. It's nearly Christmas again, and I'm in my usual state of child-like excitement.

Festive music is emanating from every room, lest anyone should forget for a moment, although I am slightly concerned every time the strains of Santa Claus is Coming to Town rings out, with the line, "he's making a list, and checking it twice, he's gonna find out who's been naughty or nice…" because I've never found the two to be mutually exclusive.

I'd like to think I'm both naughty and nice, and hope that there's been enough of the latter to prevent my present list from being curtailed too much. Actually, this year will be slightly anti-climactic because I know what I want.

I love surprises, unwrapping presents and then spending the afternoon wading through instruction manuals to see how my latest gadget really works. However, I need some new skis, so it won't be quite the same unwrapping a cheque, but at least I can play with the present I bought myself in July. Last year, I wanted a Nintendo Wii for Christmas after I saw all the adverts of people playing tennis and golf on the telly, but it proved impossible to get hold of.

So, when I spotted one at a computer fair this summer, I grabbed it. And, I'm happy to say, I haven't played as much golf over the winter for years as I have now – albeit from the comfort of my own bedroom! For the uninitiated, it isn't like the other games where you see youngsters crouched over a console twiddling their thumbs furiously.

The Wii plugs into your TV, and then you hold the 'thingy' as you would a club and swing as you would in real life. It is actually very realistic, and if you have particularly good peripheral vision, you can also view your swing in the bedroom mirror at the same time – thus I can use it quite legitimately as a teaching aid and not a toy!

I have been sorely tempted to tape the 'thingy' to the bottom of one of my clubs just to see how far I could hit the ball with some mightily enhanced swing speed, but I'm not sure it's worth sacrificing a mirror and a light-fitting for. Since you are physically playing the shots, it is surprisingly realistic, and you do develop touch and feel.

However, I have so far resisted the finishing touch of adding a spittoon by the side of my bed for the ultimate touch. Having watched Tiger Woods and Sergio Garcia spit their way round Carnoustie earlier in the year, I can only be relieved that this thoroughly unsavoury element of modern golf does not yet seem to have reached the women's game.

I have to confess, I couldn't even conjure up much sympathy for the 43-year-old German man who was taken to hospital in a critical condition earlier this year after he fell off a second storey balcony during a spitting contest with his young son. My father taught me many things, but I can only be eternally grateful that the graceful art of projectile spitting wasn't one of them. I can't recall the gentlemen of golf ever finding the need to spit on the course – and Tiger would have to go a long way to find records of his hero Jack Nicklaus indulging in such activities.

I think it is time someone had a word in his ear before a whole new generation of golfers follow in his spitting footsteps. Christmas can also be a difficult time deciding what presents to buy for other people.

However, this year I've cracked it. I have decided it's high time my nephew grew up (he's eight), so rather than trawling the Action Man shelves, I'll be out looking for a book along the lines of “How to become a good caddy". Then, in my generosity, I'll let him develop years of practical experience humping my bag around the course free of charge.

And just before our more serious readers start reaching for their pens to warn of the dangers to a young spine of carrying a fully-laden golf bag (and as well as the heaviness of my clubs, I tend to eat and drink my own body weight in provisions throughout a full 18 holes), I'm not completely heartless. I'll let him use a trolley! Of course, this is also a time to look forward to making New Year's resolutions, and somehow I have to resolve to find a way onto the selection panel to choose our new club secretary.

Purely in the long-term interests of me being able to stay at the club, it will be necessary to find someone who has at least one good blind eye, and who can be trained to have selective hearing, similar to that of a Labrador! I suppose if all else fails, I could always try and bribe him or her with a go on my Nintendo Wii.

Rats, my Blue Peter Christmas crown has just started to come unstuck. They just don't make sticky-backed plastic like they used to. Oh I wish it could be Christ-mas ev'ry da – y, when the bells ringing and…