There is, as mentioned before on these pages, a particular set of challenges around writing for a print magazine that comes out every 6 weeks. As a writer, you might want to explore subjects that are vaguely seasonal and/or topical. But there’s always the worry that by the time anyone actually reads your article, circumstances will have changed so fundamentally as to render it completely irrelevant – or, at best, an inadvertently amusing relic of bygone times.

If, for instance, I’d written a scathing denunciation of Liz Truss for this magazine on the day she became Prime Minister, it would barely have gone to print before she was politely but firmly invited to hop it, leaving a self-inflicted financial crisis and a still-perky lettuce in her wake. By the time the next issue of The Leither came out, her successor would already have been facing calls for his own resignation; though to give Rishi Sunak his due, he proved the doubters wrong by grimly hanging on long enough to lead his party into electoral oblivion. So fair play to him there.

When it comes to writing in a time-sensitive way, the last issue of the year always poses its own unique difficulties. Depending on when you pick up your copy in relation to the annual cavalcade through Black Friday, Christmas, Hogmanay and whatever they’re calling January these days, it might be the season to be extravagant, jolly, shitfaced or abstemious. It’s even possible that you’ve stumbled on this article online, years after its composition, while trying to Google an experimental improv show called ‘Shitfaced/Abstemious’ at the 2037 Edinburgh Fringe.

To complicate matters further, a couple of delicately balanced world events have the potential, at the time of writing, to produce outcomes ranging from “oh heck, that’s not ideal” to “oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit”. And jokes about a wannabe fascist dictator have the potential to fall rather flat if, come publication day, he’s already moved on to being a practising fascist dictator.

There are a few possible ways to approach this timing conundrum. One is, bluntly speaking, to ignore it. “Here is my accumulated wisdom around pigs in blankets; and if you’re reading this in November or January, simply skip it for now and set a phone reminder to read it when it next becomes relevant.” But however tempting that might be, I’m not sure it quite suits the medium. So I’m left with a choice of two contrasting approaches: the Luhrmann and the Chiles.

A Chiles takes its name from the affable broadcaster Adrian Chiles, whose regular Guardian column has gained a kind of cult status for its sheer commitment to the homespun and mundane. Genuine Chiles column headlines include ‘The dog has a cough – and I’m £80 poorer’, ‘If dishwasher-loading was a sport, my dad would be world champion’, and the near-legendary ‘We can go to the moon – so why can’t we stop my glasses sliding down my nose?’.

Whatever your opinion of this type of column, it has two things in its favour: it’s equally suitable for any time of year, and it’s highly unlikely to be overtaken by major geopolitical events. So I’ve tried drafting a few of my own in a similar vein, such as ‘Whatever happened to sporks?’, ‘Slipper socks changed my life’ and ‘Is it just me, or are squirrels getting cheekier?’. But my heart’s not really in it; and in any case, as the homeworking parent of a toddler, my daily routine is currently so banal as to make Adrian Chiles seem like Ozzy Osbourne.

So it’s going to have to be a Luhrmann. This is based on the film director Baz Luhrmann’s spoken word hit Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen), which takes the form of short, largely unrelated pieces of life advice set to a musical backdrop. The lyrics, often wrongly attributed to Kurt Vonnegut, in fact came from a column by the journalist Mary Schmich. For my version, please choose whichever musical accompaniment that seems apt, and do feel free to misattribute my words to Kurt Vonnegut. And as tends to be the way with unsolicited advice, I offer it up not because I’m particularly good at following it, but because I’m prone to forgetting it.

Be kind. Shop small. Dream medium-sized. Go to gigs (small to medium-sized, ideally). See the film Since Yesterday. Support crowdfunders. Try pottery. Remember what makes you laugh the hardest and turn to it when you need it. Don’t boil courgettes. Buy a stick blender. Make stock. Take stock.

Be kind, and beware those who are unkind. (Not just the ones who have been directly unkind to you.) If you regret losing touch, get in touch – not everything is easier nowadays, but this is. If you regret being in touch, slip away. This, admittedly, is harder.

Be kind, including to yourself. Accept that you can’t do everything, or even most things. Nor can anyone. Make tiny changes. Donate to Tiny Changes.

Be kind, and have a good Christmas. And if by some chance it’s not Christmas, have a great whatever day it is. ■

Tom Wheeler