There's no Christmas music playing in Paris, not even Fairytale of New York - Gaby Soutar

Beside a bridge over the Seine, the student brass band started playing. We rushed over the road to have a listen. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree? Chris Rea’s Driving Home? Petit Papa Noel? Nope. It was the week before le jour, and we got a chirpy rendition of Rasputin, even though they could’ve done Mary’s Boy Child. They had a dance routine as well, part of which involved all the saxophonists leaping to punctuate the last ‘ra-ra-ra’ in the Boney M classic. My face hurt from smiling.

Christmas decorations at Galeries Lafayette

Before we left, I chucked some Euro smash into a trumpet case, and the sound of the Zutons’ Valerie receded into the distance as we walked past the bouquaniste stalls. I’ve never been to Paris so close to Christmas.

Although grey and chilly, it looked predictably beautiful.

There were twinkly Joyeux Noel signs on streets, and they’d gone completely OTT in Galeries Lafayette and Le Bon Marche. In both department stores, it’s like the aliens had landed from a lesser-known planet named Fabulous.

Christmas decorations at Le Bon Marche

Elsewhere, there were bauble-covered fir swags above most shop and restaurant doors. When I spied through apartment windows, many of which had their shutters half open, I could see naked trees, or ones with simple white lights.

They were much classier than my plastic version.

It looks like it's been dragged through Pat Butcher’s jewellery box, then attacked by all the cats I’ll never own. (Also, there are a few bulbs broken on our tree, so only the top lights up, as if it’s warning ships about the rocks).

But, yes, no festive music, not even at the markets that were scattered around the city in order to punt raclette, vin chaud and chunky knitwear.

Paris is too classy and sophisticated, and maybe we were just in the wrong places.

Instead, our hotel played Christine and the Queens in the restaurant, we heard a barista singing along to soul in a coffee shop, and there were The Bee Gees in the background while we ate gratin in a bistro.

What a relief, though its absence spooked me. I thought that Noddy Holder might jump out at any minute, and screech “It’s Christmas” in my ear hole. Okay, I might have enjoyed a rendition of Fairytale of New York, since there’s poignancy after Shane MacGowan’s recent death.

Otherwise, I’m not bothered. It tends to grate on my nerves. That may be a Pavlovian response that’s associated with decades of last-minute shopping, festive queues, and my blood pressure being up at those moments.

I also always feel bad for those who work in hospitality and retail and have to put up with these earworm tunes for a month or more. I’ve been there. It’s awful.

The main problem with Christmas music, in the UK anyway, is that there only seems to be a handful of greatest hits songs that are on rotation.

There’s hardly ever anything new and fresh, apart from Michael Bublé adding his sixpence’s worth. When it comes to his cheesy cover versions, I would like to see HIS chestnuts roasting on an open fire, while reindeers nip at his nose. This crooner’s biggest crime is his take on Eartha Kitt’s 1953 song Santa Baby. In it, he’s swapped the word ‘baby’ to the alternatives ‘pally’ and ‘buddy’, just in case you were worried that his relationship with Saint Nicholas was anything but platonic. It opens with the most horrible line; “Santa buddy, slip a Rolex under the tree. For me. I've been an awful good guy”. Urgh.

Nobody plays the few enjoyable songs, like, in my opinion, I was Born on Christmas Day by Tim Burgess and Saint Etienne.

I’m not completely immune to the more popular ones, though. I find Happy Xmas (War is Over) quite soothing and I secretly enjoy Rockin’ Robin, but mainly because it always makes me feel a bit hysterical and I like singing the ‘tweedly-deedly-dee’ bit. Also, East 17’s Stay Another Day. There. I’ve said it.

Although being number one in the charts is pretty irrelevant these days, I’ve heard that Wham! are gearing up to be at the top spot this year. That’s with Last Christmas, and, yes, it was first released back in 1986. It gives me existential angst to hear this song come round every festive season.

I wonder if it’ll continue to do so for the remainder of my life. I accept it is a classic pop number, but we’ve had quite enough.

Then there’s Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You, which is 30 years old this year. And, yet, we’re still being subjected to it.

As these beloved songs wake from their crypts after an 11-month-long hibernation period and royalties drift into bank accounts like snowflakes, I ponder the worst festive tunes of all time.

Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime is always a very close contender. However, I invariably settle on Cliff Richard’s Mistletoe & Wine.

The main problem is the lyric “children singing Christian rhyme”. Does he mean hymns?

Anyway, I SAY that I had a complete break from Christmassy music in Paris. However, when I was in the toilets at Charles de Gaulle Airport, washing my hands, I heard an instrumental of Silent Night quietly playing over the tannoy.

It’s not pop, but festive nonetheless, so I wasn’t entirely spared this trip.

Imagine if Holder had been sitting behind me on the return flight? “It’s Christmas!”