How, how has this happened that Christmas is now really close and although I have vaguely collected enough presents by killing myself in London I will have to work 18 hour days just to get everything even resembling the Olde Worlde Yuletide that my family have come to know and love. I am not complaining as it is all my fault. I did not follow the Two Months to Christmas Plan in that ancient magazine that promises a stress-free season including several forms of canapes in the deep freeze for unexpected drop-in visitors. How many rainy days in November, perfect for pudding making, passed in a haze of reading and staring out of the window trying to identify far away out- of- focus birdlife. (The binoculars were hidden cunningly between burglaries and have never resurfaced but obviously we can't buy new ones as they are in the house somewhere).

Why does nothing ever seem urgent until it actually is?

How much nicer Christmas would be if the other side of my brain had not constantly and soothingly explained that I did not have to get up early or go shopping when it was cold as none of the little things that I was thinking of doing or buying would make THAT much difference.

I was just interrupted by a phone call from my husband telling me to go AT ONCE to the fridge as he had been struck by the hideous thought that the local butcher had sent (don't ask) a SKINNED ham and I had put it away without noticing. (How true). Cooking the ham is my husband's manly contribution to the Feast and I will not go into the cliches of screaming chaos that this involves every year but they are all there. Oddly, I immediately had a picture of a skinned ham and told him that never mind we would just have to be different and creative with it this year as no way was I facing the butcher and making him take it back. I spent some time cheering him and talking him round to a sullen acceptance and then when I went to look the ham was perfect and not skinned at all. Perhaps I am going to be that paranoid kind of senile. Crap.

Also, he mentioned that various new Christmas cards had arrived including one from the first man I ever wanted to marry; who I mentioned earlier in relation to the stuffed albatross. I think it is because I am an only child that I like to keep in contact with people and also to introduce acquaintances to each other so forming a big blanket-like 'family' around myself. (Who I then never bother to see and hear about in random phone calls. I just like to know that they are out there). I have sent a card and letter every year to this person, who I will call B..., for at least 20 years and , not hard to remember as we spookily have the same birthday, a birthday card. He has always either not replied or sent a card back much later long after receiving mine. Last year I sent my cards from London and had left my address book behind and couldn't remember his post code and then forgot about him. This year I Googled in his name idly and found to my total annoyance that he has a huge Arts Festival each summer at his house in Scotland, ( well, all right he runs the place as an Arts Centre), but it has live pop groups and a thousand people dancing and his name came up dozens of times. You have no idea how good I would have been at that and how dull and wet his wife is. (I am NOT jealous. She never wears makeup as a matter of principle and she thinks that plants scream when you pick them). Anyway. as he had not sent a card last year when I didn't, I particularly thought 'Oh f@ck you, it is time to let go', and crossed him off my list. Hello! As I said, apparently a card has arrived with a plaintive letter, cleverly addressed to both of us, saying what a shame it is to let old friendships die. Mwahahaa, or however you spell it. God, being unpleasant is so much more rewarding. I have even started lying, in little things, after all these years - so relaxing.

AND, the man upstairs in London who has been creating an anally perfect maisonette for a YEAR of incessant hammering has just left expensive champagne on our doorstep with a note of apology for the 'intrusive noise'. This is a few weeks after I had an hysterical and unreasonable row with him and then left two abusive notes leading him to e-mail my husband that he would only deal man-to man in future.

I have just made a Christmas pudding to an olde recipe which needs 10 hours steaming. And the mincemeat for the pies which normally keeps for a year, so you make double quantities bi-annually, has not. So instead of thinking, maybe no one will notice, I have actually made some more. And I have made cranberry and orange relish, which is like chutney and really nice but only keeps for about two weeks. And tomorrow I will be making something called 'Georgian Fairy Butter' from an 18th.C. book which I will reproduce here. As I only got back last night that is not so bad. NO!.... it is bad, as this was meant to be done ages ago and is now taking up time normally spent doing other things, like making charming peripheral cheese biscuits and stupid but pretty arrangements of furry Father Christmases, (there are several), once given to us by an Australian au-pair girl, on side tables. The detail is all.

OMG. I just read this through and am REALLY senile.. The whole point was that in his letter B... said 'I was sorry not to hear from you last year but I suppose that was understandable'. I thought 'What?' but then remembered that he had sent some rambling note, the year before, about how when he was writing his card he had nostalgic memories of our 'times' together when we first met but perhaps it was 'inappropriate' to mention these things. Aaaargh! You have no idea how gorgeous and amusing and generally perfect he used to be and cynical and well - perfect. What have 20 years in Scotland with HER done to him? How could he be so sad and wet and sad and wet? What can I write to snap him out of it? I know that he is still in there.
- posted by Iris @ 12/20/2003 12:33:00 AM comment