THE festive season is upon us and with it, the season of pints. We are very much deep into Christmas night out territory and the toon at the weekend is a swirling vortex of revelry and good times.

The night before, reindeer antler hairbands bop merrily, Christmas jumpers loudly intrude upon everyone’s night and Christmas songs are sung jauntily off-key. It’s beautiful to watch as a group of office workers finally coax the new start out of their shell.

Shots of brightly-coloured, sweet and sticky liquid are downed. The boss lets their mask slip and for one night only, it’s like they’re a real, thinking and feeling, human being. Chippies and kebabs are downed, taxis are hailed and then it’s up the road. Heads spinning but spirits soaring. It’s Christmas, and it’s absolutely class.

But then the morning after comes. And with it, comes the opposite of Christmas cheer – it’s the Christmas Fear. It doesn’t quietly creep down your chimney, oh no, it comes hurtling through your bedroom window, raining broken glass upon your head.

You can try and keep it at bay with a couple of pre-emptive painkillers, swallowed before passing out. You can tan two litres of water when you get in, maybe, you think, that’ll dilute the bevvy in my system and when I wake up, I’ll be brand new. But it’s all futile.

The Christmas Fear laughs at you for being so foolish.

I imagine it looks like a demon out of an old medieval book of folk tales; Leathery skin and horrible bulging eyes. Teeth like daggers and razor-sharp claws. It probably wears a novelty Christmas tie. Its favourite Christmas song is probably one of Cliff Richard’s.

The Christmas Fear visits you and inflicts you with a very different kind of hangover than you’ll have had at any other point during the year. It’s a hangover that jumps all over your head, scrubs at the inside of your mouth with sandpaper and fills your stomach up with hyperactive moths.

You’ve had a good night, probably the best night out you’ve had all year, now you must pay your penance. It’s a hangover so bad it’ll probably linger into Monday, maybe even Tuesday.

Then there’s the thoughts of, “Aw naw, did I actually say that last night?” “I’m too scared to open those texts.” And of course, “Why did I think putting that on Twitter was a good idea?” It’s a good laugh.

The Christmas Fear creeps into bed beside you and fills your head with thoughts that make all of this seem worse than it actually is. Here’s my tips for banishing this ungodly abomination.

Number one, calm down. Chances are, you weren’t the worst behaved person from your work. You may have been sick in the toilet of the pub, but no one saw you and no one needs to know.

You may have decked it but that floor was covered in drink, it would’ve happened even if you were sober.

There will have been someone more steaming than you, someone will have said something worse, and remember – no one will remember absolutely everything that happened or was said.

Number two, damage control.

I know the last thing you want to do is check your phone, but the longer you leave it, the worse any potential problem will become. Do not listen to the Christmas Fear’s lies. Just grab it and open your texts. Oh look, you’ve text your boss some incoherent nonsense. Just tell them on Monday that your pal had your phone. You’ve sent your ex a terribly unflattering selfie to no reply? Just delete it and it didn’t happen. Finally, delete anything you posted online after your first drink as no good can come from any of it.

Number three, look after yourself. You are mortally wounded. Okay, maybe not physically, but your soul is hurting and must be nursed back to health.

You need to sleep if you can, do not listen to the whispers of the Christmas Fear.

If you ignore it, it’ll go away. You had a smashing night, the state you’re in now is simply testament to that. When you feel like you’ve slept enough, get up. There’ll be time for wallowing later on. For now you need to move from a horizontal position and stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Get up, jump in the shower, put on some clean clothes, have a big glass of water, a bit of toast if you can stomach it, brush your teeth and you’ll feel better. Plonk yourself on the couch and stick something on the telly to distract your mind for a bit.

Even if you stay there all day, you’ve achieved something by simply getting out of your pit. Order yourself something to eat later on, and by my calculations, you should start to feel human again around half nine at night.

Number four, Plan B. Right, fine, you think I’m talking mince. That’s fair enough. I’m a glutton for punishment and there’s a part of me that actually enjoys a hangover.

Sadistic, but true. Ignore of all the above in this case. This fourth option is to be used only in extreme circumstances.

This is the nuclear option, for when you’ve really made a mess of it the night before. You simply have to pass the buck.

“Here,” you text your pal who you sit next to at work. “Did you see [insert colleague’s name] last night?” You could even pick someone at random and say something vague like, “Awrite, steamer! Don’t worry about last night, it’ll be fine!”

Let the Christmas Fear pay someone else a visit and leave you alone.

Wave it off, get your feet up, maybe even have a wee can to celebrate the passing of the baton over to them. It’ll all be fine on Monday. Well done.