Advent has barely begun and already it's shaping up to be quite the white Christmas (assuming one can still use the term ‘white Christmas' without incurring the wrath of the equality police).

I've never seen such a blizzard of seasonal snowflakery.

What began as a light sprinkling has snowballed into a veritable avalanche of neuroticism. We now have ‘winter trees' instead of Christmas trees, Nativity plays without the Nativity and, if Emma Thompson has her way, present-giving without any actual presents.

And these bone-chilling snowflakes are not just falling on the festivities.
This week we learned the Mr Men — those innocent and joyfully quaint characters — are sexist. According to 24-year-old Shelby Judge — a student of ‘feminist issues' — Mr Clever is guilty of ‘mansplaining' the Forth Bridge to Little Miss Curious. This apparently sends a message that, ‘girls, you need to be stupid and men, it's your job to explain things'.

Or it could be a ‘joke'.

On a similar theme, the Star Wars actress Daisy Ridley, who two years ago said she grew up as a ‘tomboy', has now decided that's sexist, too, opining: ‘Why has there got to be a boy in it?'

Is there anything now that doesn't cause offence to someone?

No wonder David Walliams has admitted some of the Little Britain characters he created 20 years ago would now be ‘taboo'.

The latest casualty of this new puritanism is the humble office Christmas party. Once the source of enough salacious gossip to last well beyond any New Year resolution it, too, has become mired in the ever-growing snowdrift of political correctness.

First against the wall is humble mistletoe: to be exact, smooching beneath it, which is no longer considered ‘appropriate' in this post #MeToo age.

Indeed, 86 per cent of office workers take the view that the traditionally raucous Christmas office party now holds no place in the modern world.

Many firms are having Christmas lunches instead, in the hope of avoiding the kind of high jinks most of us would simply call ‘fun'.

Of course, the #MeToo movement and its many ramifications have ushered in long-overdue improvements in the workplace.

But while it's undoubtedly a good thing to safeguard the vulnerable from the unwanted attentions of the powerful, it's another to render the landscape of human interaction so barren people lose the ability to connect altogether.

As a society we can't protect ourselves from harm by banning everything.

Life is full of risks; the secret is to manage them.

That's the joy of the office Christmas party. Not only does it offer an opportunity to get drunk at your employer's expense, it can also teach you all you need to know about the people you work with.

It's the one night of the year where you should be able to step out of your comfort zone, to push the boundaries without bringing the walls down.

So kiss under the mistletoe, tell your boss what you really feel about them, scoff all the sausage rolls — and to hell with the snowflakes.

Because, as I know from experience, it can be good for the soul occasionally to make a fool of yourself. To laugh and be laughed at. And, yes, you might be taking a risk. But so what? Eat, drink and photocopy your bottom. For tomorrow . . . well, who knows.

My daughter, 16, has decided to spend all her spare time at her best friend's house.

This, she informs me, is because they have an ice dispenser and panettone. Now I finally know where I went wrong as a mother. Ah, fickle youth.

The off-key XXX Factor

Like many, I long ago gave up watching X Factor.

But I did catch a glimpse of this weekend's final — and the excruciating performance by the Pussycat Dolls, reunited (oh joy!) especially for the occasion.

It's attracted a record number of complaints from viewers who felt the skimpy costumes, provocative moves and sheer vulgarity of the thing were more suited to Spearmint Rhino than teatime on a Saturday.

Adding insult to injury was the terrible caterwauling of Nicole Scherzinger (left), which may have had something to do with the strips of dental floss stretched eye-wateringly tight across her nether regions.

Either way, it's a shabby message to send to young fans of the show.
No wonder so many girls feel obliged to dress and act like porn stars if this is what now passes for family entertainment.

This trend should bow out

I know it's that time of year, but is there anything more ridiculous than a fully grown woman trussed up like a Christmas present?

Along with various other examples of Eighties fashion excess, giant bows seem to be having a ‘moment'.

Quite apart from the fact they look ridiculous on even the most stylish of wearers — see actress Lily James at Monday night's British Fashion Awards (left) — there is something just a little bit creepy about the way they infantilise the wearer. Fine if you're five; not so much if you're 30.

Murderer not martyr

Jeremy Corbyn is trying to spin last Friday's London Bridge atrocity as a ‘consequence' of Britain's foreign policy.

In saying so, he casts the vicious double murderer as some kind of victim himself, twisted logic even for a man with Corbyn's record of sympathising with terrorists.

As we now know, this man, Usman Khan, was afforded every possible opportunity to turn his life around — and he showed his gratitude by slaughtering two people.
If that is the ‘consequence' of anything, it is of our generosity as one of the most liberal countries in the world.

We shouldn't let people like Khan change that; but nor should we make martyrs of terrorists.

Monday night's Panorama doesn't bring us any closer to knowing what really happened between the Prince and the Masseuse.

It's still just his word against hers, with two decades and a whole lot of speculation in between.

But as arrogant and insensitive as Andrew has been about this whole sordid affair, one thing I do know: being a bad, sweaty dancer is not, as far as I know, a criminal offence.

On that basis, 99 per cent of the male population over 40 would find themselves in the dock.

Chilled by the unions

As A former inmate of South West Trains — I served a long stretch on their Woking to Waterloo line — my heart goes out to the victims of the 27-day strike.

Passengers who rely on their trains to get to and from work have no choice but to endure the freezing cold and long delays — or else face being unable to pay their bills this Christmas.

Worth noting that Labour is all in favour of this kind of industrial action — indeed, expect plenty more if Corbyn gets into No 10.

There are 800 train guards taking part in the strike — in contrast to the hundreds of thousands of weary commuters who rely on the service daily.

For the few, not the many, as the saying nearly goes.

A study of 15-year-olds by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development has solemnly concluded that more than half of British teenagers are miserable.

Next week: mammals of an ursine persuasion are predisposed to relieving themselves in wooded areas.

I'm buying the sound of (royal) silence

I know it's very wicked of me; but is anyone actually missing Harry and Meghan?

Or is it just really nice to have a break from their endless speechifying about how awful it is living in a taxpayer-funded mansion and generally being two of the luckiest, most privileged people on the planet?