Andy Richardson: That's Christmas then, all wrapped up

The wrapping paper's in the recycling bin, Uncle Bert's still asleep in his pants behind the sofa, the kids have broken all of their new toys and the turkey's still so God damn big that we can't even fit the milk in the fridge. There's a pair of toy antlers on the edge of the bed – what, oh, just me then? – and the stationery cupboard is already full of cut-price Christmas cards from Amazon in readiness for #Chrimbo2016 – what, oh, just me then?

We managed to evade the amorous woman at the Post Office who fancied an under-the-mistletoe-snog, we got through yesterday without forgetting to send cards to anyone who'd sent them to us and we even remembered to buy presents for all of our nieces and nephews: all 57 of them. Pah. Easy. Bring on the next lot, happy breeding relatives.

We can loosen our belts and relax in the warm fuzzy afterglow that is Boxing Day – before starting a pointless row with the in-laws/dog/neighbours because Boxing Day wouldn't be Boxing Day without directing a stream of invective that we'll regret before the clock strikes 7pm. Ah, bliss.

Our better halves will have been up at the crack of dawn to buy clothes that neither fit them nor suit them but were as cheap as chips. Where would we be without the Next sale? And men across the region will dutifully nod and tell them how great they look in them, while wondering silently whether the backless purple-and-green-gingham dress really is going to be the next big thing. Never mind the quality, look at the price tag: £6.99 is a bargain any day of the week. HoHoBloomin'Ho.

There are now only 365 days until Christmas. And before you quibble with the maths, I've done the research: 2016 is a Leap Year. And as Boxing Day fades to Sunday and a week of rubbish re-runs on the telly we can rest happy in the news that this is the calm before the storm, the lit blue touch paper before the dazzling pyrotechnic rainbow.

For before the week's out, we'll all be partying like teenagers on Hooch as we count down the days until NEXT YEAR. Whoop whoop. And when the clock strikes 12, we'll crack open fizzy stuff, complain that the mobile phone network has crashed and we can't text our mates and make promises that we'll have broken within days. What? Oh yes, they're not promises, they're 'Resolutions'. Same thing. We're as likely to keep them as an alcoholic is to avoid the drink if he's offered a VIP tour of the Bell's factory. "One for the road? Oh, go on then. Slips down a treat."

New Year is the contest to be the brightest and brashest, the biggest and loudest, the latest and longest. Parties in city centres, celebrations in neighbours houses, getting steaming drunk in the pub or escaping to a quiet corner of the UK where's there's nothing but a roaring fire, a lovely cottage and the sound of owls and foxes – they'd be the top four on a Family Fortunes list of 'how to spend New Year's Eve'.

My choice wouldn't feature. And I'm kinda glad it doesn't. For New Year to me isn't a time of celebration, it's a time to say a sincere thanks for the kindness and warmth of family, friends and colleagues who've sustained me – or made me laugh – over the past 12 months. And if that sounds too much like the script from a saccharine Boxing Day rom-com, it's fine. After more than my fair share of pandemonium and hell-raising, New Year is no longer about living it large. It's about living it humble. It's about saying thanks to the people who are always there. It's about being grateful for small mercies. It's about counting the blessings and taking stock.

Because let's face it. We all experience times of trouble in any given year; there's highlights and hang-ups, break-ups and make-ups, days when the car won't start and moments when the last 50p runs out on our metaphorical meter.

New Year is also brilliantly inclusive. For while some in our multi-faith – or, in my case, non-faith – society feel strangely alienated by the consumer-driven Christian feast that brings socks, jocks and chocs, everyone's included when we move from one year to the next. The numbers change: 2015 to 2016. We're all equally involved.

So, what the hell, though we've still got six days of pigs-in-blankets ahead of us, the 89th re-run of the Sound Of Music and visits to relatives who we see but once a year, we can look beyond the coming days to the not-so-distant future that is New Year's Eve.

And as midnight on December 31 looms, it's befitting to wish each and every one of you a happy, healthy and peaceful New Year.