The reluctant countdown . . . . -1

The reluctant countdown . . . . 0

Happy Christmas!

The reluctant countdown . . . . 1

The reluctant countdown . . . . 2

The reluctant countdown . . . . 3

The reluctant countdown . . . . 4

The reluctant countdown . . . . 5

The reluctant countdown . . . . 6 1/2

Another trip into town, and my presents list is looking quite ticky. Hurrah! And thence to a well-known out-of-town purveyor of food, drink and Hannah Montana wear age 7-8 to purchase another few noughts'-worth of stuff.

With the shops closed for one whole long day on 25th Dec, obviously, it is imperative that one stockpiles as many bottles of fizzy drinks to tide the family over as, in fact, the family consumes during the entire course of the rest of the year. Stands to reason. As does acquiring a half-hundredweight sack of icing sugar. Just in case I run out.

So the food list is looking pretty ticked as well. The spare fridge (in the garage) has been cleaned out and pressed into service again - an excellent place to hide things I don't want the rest of the family to get their greedy hands on, too - and this weekend promises to be spent largely in the kitchen, doing all the baking which more organised domestic goddesses have been busy preparing for the past three months.

But where the blazes do I have to go to find Haggis???? What on earth is going on? Within easy living memory, Sainsbury's stocked a serviceable, workaday Haggis practically all the year round. Then suddenly, they stopped stocking it at all. Even in the winter. Even in December. And even, heaven help us, towards the end of January, when it might be supposed, with Burns Night on the 25th, that the entire Scottish Diaspora, not to mention swathes of Sassenach Haggis-fanciers, myself among them, would be scouring the aisles for the great chieftain o' the puddin-race. Ridiculous. I sent emails to Customer Services, and Customers Services replied, saying that Haggis was a 'seasonal item' and it was up to individual stores' sausage buyers to assess the demand. I reponding with rather a lot of inarticulate hurrumphing, to - evidently - no avail whatever. I shall have to call in at Proctors tomorrow and see if they have any.

Anyway, miraculously, I am still not grumpy at all. So it's time for another little extra countdown clip before I galvanise myself into unloading all the shopping from the car.

PS: I do, of course, realise (well, OK, the cogs have slowly ground into action and I have worked out) that, counting backwards, what comes between 6 and 5 is 5 1/2, but . . . it's still six days before Christmas, so 5 1/2 would look aesthetically strange if numerically accurate. Is my explanation, anyway. And I'm sticking to it. (And it's my blog, OK?!)

The reluctant countdown . . . . 6

The reluctant countdown . . . . 7 1/2

Have survived first major foray into Britain's Oldest Recorded Town (or "Britains Oldest Recorded Town" as it says on all the signposts, apostrophes having been consigned to ancient history in these parts, it would seem). Bought as much as I could carry, and then some more. Arms longer than they were, shoulders in need of the attention of a skilled masseur but will have to dream on. A fair amount ticked off The List, but a long way to go yet. Still, I am quite pleased with myself and not even particularly grumpy. So I think this calls for a celebratory musical interlude, and this is rather fun:

The reluctant countdown . . . . 7

The reluctant countdown . . . . 8

I'm not a modern-day Scroogette, honestly I'm not. It's just that Christmas comes but once a year, and that is on 25th December.

Until then, it's the first 24 days of December, it's Advent, it's winter - but it isn't Christmas!

And, speaking for myself (and I don't expect anyone else to concur) I simply don't feel the need to become the slightest bit 'Christmassy' until it is actually upon us.

If I had my way (and no nagging children), I wouldn't bring in the tree or put up decorations and lights until Christmas Eve itself. I cannot fathom this apparently irresistible urge to hang garish flashing lights indoors and out from the first week of December.

Shops and shopping centres I forgive (at least I forgive them in November - I do still find decorations October a bit overenthusiastic) - they desperately have to try to sell us stuff, so we can wrap it up and give it to other people, or eat or drink it, or wear it to parties.

But why do ordinary householders inflate giant plastic Santas and wedge them between their dormer windows on 1st December? I'm afraid I don't understand. And whatever happened to energy saving and the credit crunch? I'd rather hoped that there would be a noticeable reduction in flashing lights this year . . . but no. Everyone must have been making their savings in other ways, because the ubiquitous garishness is absolutely everywhere, flashing at us from all directions. Electric blue 'icicles', strobing rooftop sleighs, Las Vegas comes to the English countryside. There's no escape.

I am, however, resigned to the fact that, with just one week to go before the Big Day, I am really going to have to crank things up a notch or two and start getting into the Christmas groove.

To help me on my way - and I do hope it offers sustenance to anyone else of a similarly jaundiced disposition - here's the first of my Christmas Countdown, strictly non-commercial yuletide music clips: