Countdown!

We've all had those dreams (some may call them nightmares) where we are trying to reach a deadline of some kind, but are being repeatedly thwarted by constant setbacks, prevarications, delays and frustrations. In my experience, I usually waken before the deadline is ever achieved, thereby leaving me with a sense of being unfulfilled and saddened. Such dreams are quite common, I know, and thankfully that's all they are - just dreams. However, I regret to inform you, dear reader, that the reality of my daily life has been trapped in exactly such a format for the past two weeks. I've had a massive deadline to meet (completing the sale of my late father's house), but as the unstoppable date hurtled towards me with the force of a runaway train, I was presented with obstacle after immovable obstacle. It was all horribly frustrating, and totally time-gobbling. Hence the absence of a recent posting on here - with apologies.

And now, another deadline fast approaches to cause us all continued and crushing stress. I'm talking about the debacle that is Christmas, of course. Even though I always claim to dislike Christmas, nevertheless I usually get carried along by the festivities and make a reasonable stab at complying with the demands of polite society. I normally prepare appropriate lists and draw up suitable plans to ensure that all the accepted milestones are met. I buy cards and write them, slipping in a newsy note to those whom I haven't seen for a while; I buy and wrap a series of gifts for a select list of close loved ones; and I stock up on alcohol and food in readiness for cheery guests. But this year, because of the horrid tasks that have befallen me in recent weeks, and despite there being only five days to go, I have done none of that.

Those of you who were reading this blog a year ago will remember that I posted (across several days) an account of a dismal Christmas I once spent in the company of my Great Aunt Dolores at the home of the Earl of Maugersbury. That year we had little more than a tin of spam and a bottle of cheap brandy with which to celebrate, and so I feel that if I survived that, I can survive this year's rather hasty last minute arrangements. For a start, I simply won't be sending any cards to anyone. If you think about it, nobody will probably notice until mid-January anyway, by which time I will have had the opportunity to drop them a New Year's message explaining why they were missed off the list. As for the gifts - well, some people apparently rush out on Christmas Eve and purchase everything then, and as I have a very limited number of people to buy for, that idea seems both feasible and achievable. I can pop into a supermarket in the week and get the required provisions, and I have a little foot-high Christmas tree in a box which I can whip out by way of decorations, and hey presto - I shall be ready!

The only fly in the ointment to this cunning plan is this: Because of it being (as we are told) the 'Festive Season', there are countless other distractions to create obstacles to next Saturday's runaway train. I'm talking about all the invitations to parties, dinners and drinks that come flying my way at this time of year. It already started about a week ago and I have been out on the town every evening since. The coming week offers no respite from this either - most days offer clashes of social functions too, such that I shall be an exhausted alcoholic at the end of it all. Add to that the various financial, domestic and business chores that face me this week, and it's going to be quite a ride.

And the tear-jerking tragedy to all of this is that, as ever, I shall be taking that ride alone. Oh yes, surrounded by dozens of lovely friends and acquaintances, true - but as I slam my front door at the end of each hectic and dazzling day, I shall still be quite, quite alone. That's probably the real nightmare in all of this.

It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside......