Christmas is the season of good will to all men. And when you’re eight years old, it’s also the time for unmatched levels of self-restraint writes Essex reporter Ross Bentley.

He has been castign his memory back to childhood Christmases and sharing his memories with readers.

In the days running up to Christmas Day, my brother and I would be driven half crazy by the knowledge that somewhere around the house it was likely that presents were hidden.We knew to seek them out was wrong but sometimes the temptation was too strong - patience may be a virtue but greed is an instinct.

Working as a team – for once – we’d scour every inch for a sneek preview of the hidden gifts: under Mum and Dad’s bed, behind the towels in the airing cupboard, and in every nook and cranny in the garage.

Our ingenuity knew no bounds – to get a look into the top cupboard above my parents’ wardrobe we had to balance the washing basket precariously on a chair and clamber on top.

I was never any good at waiting for present-opening time – it couldn’t come soon enough.

Some of our friends told us that in their house they opened their presents in the afternoon in the afterglow of their Turkey lunch.

What? Other people’s houses seem like foreign countries when you’re a youngster and this was one strange custom I certainly did not understand. To us that was restraint on an unimaginable scale.

No – the only way to truly enjoy your presents on Christmas Day was in pyjamas: hassle your parents into getting up as soon as possible, allow enough time for a cup of tea to be made and then launch headlong into the unwrapping. When you are eight Christmas is all about receiving.