WHAT? No way. Impossible, d’you hear me? Christmas just cannot be a week today.
I just don’t know where 18 days of December went. They got lost in a winter cyclone. Sucked up in a chaotic whirl.
Now there’s only six days to do everything.
All you folk who nod at me and say: “All ready for it, then?” I want to kill you.
How very un-merry, how terribly un-Christian, is that? But it’s your own fault. You’re only saying it for something to say. Or because you’re a sanctimonious sort, the type of person who actually IS ready. Waiting. Prepared. Cool as a cucumber – and just as boring.
Me? I am not ready by a long chalk. I’ve just about finished shopping for presents, but the house is an absolute tip.
Mine is the home that Santa purposefully forgot because it was too flipping scruffy to set a sooty foot in.
As soon as we’re out of this recession, I’m hiring a Woman Who Does For Women Who Go To Work. Honest, you should see the state of my shower curtain. And the lounge carpet. The bedroom is so dusty I wake up sneezing.
That’s if you can see in – the windows haven’t been cleaned from the inside for... Ooh, it must be six years since my mum balanced tip-toe on a kitchen chair brandishing her chamois and tutting.
Not only is there dirt, though, there are bags of Christmas shopping spilling from every single one of my home’s over-crammed orifices.
To make matters worse, hanging from doorknobs, draped over chairs, are all the presents to me that I’ve stupidly, so selfishly, gone and bought along the way (well it’s not MY fault. I never get time to go shopping; how unsurprising is it that when I HAVE to go into shops, I’m going to go into lust-fest?)
All the trimmings are still lying in the cupboard, quietly and devilishly tangling themselves up and popping their fuses in readiness for the annual outing. Which will be some time away, seeing as I have no Christmas tree.
TBH, we’re waiting ’til someone reduces them. I’m just not paying 50 quid for a dying conifer. Not when I still need a new pair of winter boots.
I have no Christmas food, either. There are 11 people due for the festive feast and so far, all there is to go round is a box of crackers.
The heaving mass steering mountainous trolleys around Morrisons and queueing for hours at the tills this weekend? I’ll be in it.
Though what I’d much rather do is delay Christmas Day. Another day or two would be great. Another week absolutely flaming marvellous.
My life, my Christmas, is such a far cry from the days when I couldn’t wait for December 25 and the excitement of opening another door on an advent calendar had nothing to do with getting a chocolate.
Yep, Christmas IS for children. They don’t have to do anything bar scour the Argos catalogue, make a lust list and shove it up the chimney.
Kids, enjoy it while you can. Your time at the coal face WILL come. Ho, ho, ho.