Miriam O’Callaghan: Savour the memories of Christmas past, safe in the knowledge that the festive future is in good hands

I don’t know about you, but this year, like the exhausted directors of music at St Patrick’s and Christ Church, I’m all on, all in, for a silent night. Rushing regularly from An Lár, with its rash of young men, gaunt and grey, to their counterparts all gold-sequinned and glinting, strutting in their stilettos behind the plate-glass of Dawson and Molesworth Streets. It is enough to send my tinnitus – swoosh, swoosh – into overdrive.

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