London - Pre-Christmas fever has hit the Candy household, sending us into the annual whirl of disorganised, mince-pie fuelled planning. Obviously I blame my husband for this chaos. He didn’t confer with me about who to invite on Christmas Day, so we’ve accidentally invited everyone.
My solution to getting things done is to write it all down, then it feels as if it’s sorted. There’s so many of my hastily scribbled to-do lists littered all over the place that Gracie-in-the-middle, nine, is thinking of putting them into a book called The Manic Doodles Of A Festive Lunatic.
All normal service at home has been suspended as we prepare for the big day. No tidying, cleaning or washing has been done for ages. Mr Candy grumbles that he has been forced to turn his socks inside out on at least one occasion.
And Henry, seven, asked if it was National Uncomfortable Trousers Day after being forced into a pair he has long outgrown because the rest are in the wash basket. Duke the dog stares wistfully out of the window, remembering the days when he ventured further than the back garden.
His only excitement is following the toddler around and snaffling the festive goodies she hides “for laters”.
On the upside, two school carol concerts have been ticked off the to-do list, with just one more to go (hopefully, it’ll be another year before I have to endure - sorry, I mean enjoy - an under-ten playing a violin in the humidity of an over-filled assembly hall).
And for once we’ve also successfully sorted all the children’s Secret Santa pressies for schoolmates without raiding their toy boxes (don’t judge me: you’ve all done this).
We were even able to tick off a late addition to the to-do list, “wear a Christmas sweater to school day”, with a triumphant burst of DIY jumper decorating that would have made Kirstie Allsopp proud.
But there’s still six days to go and having missed the deadline for online food shopping I’m having nightmares about getting to the shops this weekend with my list and finding that only a turkey the size of a golf ball is left for the 12 of us.
Also I have to confess my organisational efficiency has been hampered by a five-day hangover following the office Christmas party.
As all moms will testify, a night out is rare and when one presents itself you throw yourself at it as shamelessly as a One Direction groupie would throw herself at Harry Styles.
Nothing matches the enthusiasm of a parent for partying at Christmas. I gave Beyonce a run for her money on the dance floor and Keith Richards a run for his money at the bar.
And while my childless colleagues slept through the first part of the next day, Mabel made sure I was up before the shops opened.
“Is Santa coming today?” she asked, as I removed the tinsel from my hair and warmed up a second mince pie and custard for breakfast.
The present list is even longer than the food list, given we have four children and my husband is one of four. “What’s next?” we ask each other each morning, comparing the lists for the day like a couple of weary military commanders planning a raid on Debenhams.
How anyone also finds time to decorate a gingerbread house (Mary Berry, I’m looking at you) or get Christmas cards printed with pictures of their own family I’ll never know.
Sometimes all my worlds collide and confusion reigns. I found myself in Marks & Spencer during my lunch hour staring at a piece of paper I thought was the present list for all the cousins.
Instead I was reading a bizarre note Gracie had written to her older sister during one of their role-playing games.
“Dear Sky,” it began. “Thanks to you, Candice the dry cleaner has retired, Henry is in a mental hospital and I, Brittany, have deleted you from my contacts book.”
I stood still for a while, frozen, and simply stared at a display of comedy slippers. I must have looked more confused than Mabel did when she spotted three Santas in the queue at our local cafe.
“Can I help you madam?” a shop assistant asked.
“I doubt it,” I replied and headed straight off to replenish the mince pie supplies. - Daily Mail
* Lorraine Candy is editor-in-chief of Elle.