In many ways, it should have been wretched - Christmas Day, on my tod, with only a two-foot chocolate Santa to eat and not a soul in the world to visit.

Not surprisingly, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. The only light on the horizon, as far as I could see, was the fact that I'd had enough foresight to book myself Christmas lunch.

In truth, I wasn't expecting much: just something hot, something turkey-like, somewhere warm. And it was in this frame of mind that I turned up at Café Rouge in Little Clarendon Street, Oxford, just after midday on a fairly typical Christmas Day - damp, cold and grey, but from outside as I stood and peered in, it at least looked cosy and welcoming.

God, they're going to hate me I thought; it's Christmas Day, they're having to work. Who wouldn't resent a sad loser on this, the supposedly most joyous day of the year? Except ... well, it was a shock; like a bolt of electricity, as the manager (a hearty, cheery chap) threw open the door and exuberantly welcomed me in.

"Merry Christmas, M-E-R-R-Y C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S, Mr Smith. Come in, come in, how are you today, sir?..." Such a fuss was made of me, and all the other diners who followed, that I forgot the self-pity I'd earnestly slipped around my shoulders earlier that morning.

I was primped and flattered and fawned over until I began to feel not just marginally better, but actually 'Christmassy'. I had a nice table at the front of the restaurant, a bottle of Champagne chilling in a bucket, and a dish of bisque de homard, steaming in front of me (that's Champagne and lobster soup for those unfamiliar with the French tongue. Which includes 'moi').

Fifteen minutes had passed and already I was beginning to nod along with the appropriately Gallic soundtrack which was serenading the festive fare.

The soup was great and so was the traditional roast turkey dinner (dinde rotie de Noel) which followed, all served effortlessly, piping hot, and reassuringly cheerfully.

Indeed, it was the staff who made the lunch so special. Sure, the food was terrific, but that by itself would not have been enough to make this meal seem festive. Neither did the bonhomie seem in the least artificial.

Not only was I being treated royally, but so was everyone else, and even though I was the only lone diner (spot the freak), I didn't feel like one. Diners on other tables raised their glasses to toast me a Merry Christmas (though none, I noticed, offered to pick up my bill).

When dessert came, I'd clean forgotten I was an unloved, social orphan, and found myself plumping - with an almost embarrassing enthusiasm - for the selection plate of rich chocolate and caramel truffle tart, creme brulee and vanilla cheesecake.

Which was washed down with coffee and the last dribbles of Champagne (I think after that, I just started ordering by the glass). By then, I'd been there almost three hours, and when I finally got up to leave, I felt like I'd enjoyed - along with the rest of the world - a true Christmas lunch.

In short, I loved it. And considering the bill for the set meal excluding wine (three courses and coffee) came to £49.50, I thought it was great value.

Would I want to spend Christmas alone again? Er, no - who would? But would I want to enjoy my Christmas Day lunch at Café Rouge again? Absolutely!