Every year, without fail, you can hear me say that this is the year I am going to be uber organised and have everything sorted for Christmas by the end of August so come December I can sit smugly in the knowledge it is all done.
All the presents will be wrapped, and in my head they’ll be bedecked with pretty ribbon curls because I’ve magically learnt how to wrap prettily
instead of it looking like a herd of stampeding elephants has landed on it.
I’ll have watched programmes like Kirsty and Phil’s Perfect Christmas, and seen the magnificent ice sculptures and homemade table decorations.
Yes, I’ll have been meandering on woodland walks in the early autumn, and found some pine cones to spray silver and gold for the centrepiece.
I’ll have made home-made biscuits and fudge and put them in cellophane bags tied with festive coloured ribbon to hand out as gifts.
I’ll have drooled over the mince pies in the Hairy Bikers Christmas book, and been determined that THIS is the year that I’ll be baking my own mince pies, and my mince pie pastry will have the scent and taste of orange in too.
This year’s been no exception.
I’m still to make the mince pies, the biscuit baking hasn’t happened yet, never mind the fancy fudge, and the Christmas cake the husband made in September never made it into October. Feeding it with booze and leaving for a few months? Yeah, that happened. Not. (Think it lasted a week as he couldn’t wait to ‘try’ it.)
Then once it was cut I needed to try it too. You know, just to make sure it tasted OK.
Everybody was going to get hampers of various sorts as presents, but a lack of finding suitable baskets anywhere put paid to that.
So instead, I’ve been doing my usual headless chicken act this week, and charging around the shops.
You know, the one thing I said I WASN’T going to do this year.
Sharpening the elbows and shoving little old ladies out of the way in Marks and Sparks. (OK, I didn’t literally. Although I felt like it.)
Next year is going to be different.
No, it really is. Move over Kirsty, it’s going to be me carving pretty ice sculptures and laughing merrily at witty jokes at the Christmas party I have thrown, and yes, all my fruit will be spray painted and pretty too.