Guaranteed happiness this Christmas: a roundabout with your name on it

Maybe I have spent too much time in the sun. Next time I'll actually do something on holiday

Back from the Indian Ocean, straight into a bleak midwinter. I look a right pillock wandering around my nearest town with my tan gleaming like a beacon. Everyone looks at me as though I'm wearing a T-shirt saying "I'm better than you." One bloke even called me a prat as I walked past as though my tan had been produced purely for his displeasure. I've never really understood the concept of tanning anyway. Supposedly a tan indicates a good holiday but, to get one, you need to have spent your whole holiday doing nothing but prostrating yourself in front of the great sun god that means that you didn't really do anything at all.

Back from the Indian Ocean, straight into a bleak midwinter. I look a right pillock wandering around my nearest town with my tan gleaming like a beacon. Everyone looks at me as though I'm wearing a T-shirt saying "I'm better than you." One bloke even called me a prat as I walked past as though my tan had been produced purely for his displeasure. I've never really understood the concept of tanning anyway. Supposedly a tan indicates a good holiday but, to get one, you need to have spent your whole holiday doing nothing but prostrating yourself in front of the great sun god that means that you didn't really do anything at all.

Maybe Stacey got it right. She got a fake tan before we went so that she was the only person who went progressively whiter as the holiday went on. There was one day in the middle when we colour coordinated but our pigmentation then roared off in their respective directions.

So here I am back in the UK and gearing up for Christmas. At least the question of presents has been sorted as I've come up with a real winner this year. There's a place very near here where there are a series of roundabouts in a row. For a small(ish) sum you can sponsor them and your name goes up on a sign on each side of the thing. I've got three of them so that my wife, daughter and son will have their very own roundabouts to drive round all next year. Brilliant eh? Imagine the thrill for them as they approach what would normally be another dull roundabout only to see their name on it. I've had each one have a special message on them so my wife's one says "Stacey Joly's roundabout, see you round, like a bagel." My daughter Parker has one that says "Parker Joly's roundabout, park 'ere at your peril." My son Jackson has "Jackson Joly's roundabout, keep on trucking." I haven't told them about these presents yet. I'm going to make them drive around with me on Christmas Day for some spurious reason and hope that they notice it. Well, to be honest, they will notice it as I'm not going to take them home until they do. I'm not having them being ungrateful. I'm sure they'll really like the presents. They're certainly different.

Mind you I am under a little bit of pressure this year as I screwed up a bit last year. I saw a programme about some poor people in Dorset.

They were so poor that they could only afford one lottery ticket between them for Christmas and the Mum had a fake Burberry baseball cap. Imagine the shame. Anyway I thought it would be nice to give them a good Christmas so I got all the presents under the tree and sent them off to the borstal address the TV company gave me. They never wrote back but it made me feel really good about myself. Unfortunately, this was on Christmas Eve and my kids were a little bit disappointed when I told them about it. It was a very curious day, lots of shouting and tears, and I had to live in the garage for a couple of weeks but it won't happen this year. Not with the roundabout idea, oh no.

Someone has just shouted "Why don't you go back where you belong" at me in the supermarket. Wh...at do they mean? Do they want me to go back to London? Are they unhappy that I've strayed from my own village? Surely they haven't taken me for a foreigner? Admittedly it was quite difficult for me getting back into the country. The immigration man looked at the picture in my passport and then looked at me. He asked me what I did and I said that I was a comedian. He said that he knew that Dom Joly was a comedian but that he also happened to know that he was not a black man. I had to spend ages persuading him that it was me.

Eventually he let me through after I shouted "Hello, No, I'm in immigration talking to Derek, no he's rubbish." Maybe I have spent too much time in the sun. Next time I'll go the fake tan route and actually do something on holiday. We'll probably go on another one soon. Stacey will probably organise a trip for me when she sees the roundabouts. God I love Christmas - it's all about the giving.