You can't have everything...

I've been a terrible blogger, and an even worse writer lately, but I'm sure you'll all be thrilled to know that this Christmas there has been no last-minute present panic (yet) or waking up in a cold sweat at 3am with the desperate realisation that tomorrow is daughter #3's Christmas play and I haven't yet started assembling bits of costume. This year, beds are already made up - with actual clean sheets - in preparation for the arrival of my brother and his adorable family and not only are presents bought, but also wrapped, hopefully meaning I'll be able to go to bed before the sky starts to lighten on Christmas morning. This year the fridge has been calmly stocked by a timely Sainsbury's delivery rather than a last-minute raid on the Spar shop in the late-night garage, and the chocolate-and-pizza-encrusted sofa covers have been washed. In other words, this year I am In Control of Christmas.

It's all something of a displacement activity, of course. It's the season of angels and lighting candles and counting blessings and I am doing both of the latter, for reasons that will become clear in time. In the meantime I'm wishing you all the happiest and most peaceful of Christmases and the best and brightest of New Years. xxxx

Staving off the January blues

Recently I was reading somewhere (needless to say my goldfish brain can’t remember where) about the psychological benefits of keeping a ‘gratitude journal’. Apparently the small act of writing down three small, specific things daily for which you are thankful boosts feelings of positivity and contentment and can significantly reduce stress. Now, I have slight issues with the ‘daily’ part (as regular followers of this blog might not be surprised to hear) but I’m all in favour of the stress relief thing and the increased positivity, especially when everything outside is the colour of sludge, there’s a big, Christmas-tree shaped space in my sitting room, I have a book due far too soon and all of my clothes seem to have shrunk by two sizes. Here’s my specially-extended-to-cover-all-of-January gratitude list...

• We escaped all the horrible viruses going around over Christmas. The school car park is full of stories of turkey and Prosecco being replaced by Neurofen MaxPlus and Lemsip, and children too poorly to take much interest in whether Father Christmas had been. (Have noticed though that none of the people relating these tales have the same problem doing their jeans up as I do. So if you were afflicted with Festive Flu perhaps that might be worth noting in your gratitude journal…??)


• I’m thankful for my sisters-in-law. I have three brothers who are married to three warm, funny, kind, talented (and beautiful, but I’m prepared to forgive them that) women who I’d absolutely want as my friends if my thoughtful brothers hadn’t gone one better and made them into family. So I guess that means I can also say I’m thankful for my brothers too.


• On a similar note, I’m thankful for and to all the readers who email from all over the world and invariably say things that make me glow inside. (V important when on the outside skin has taken on the colour and texture of ancient parchment and only glows after two glasses of wine drunk while sitting too close to the fire.)


• ...And leading on from that… I’m insanely grateful to all you lovely American ladies who bought The Society Wife and put it at no 2 on Borders last week and no 82 on the USA Today list. Inside positively incandescent when I discovered that!

• Being horribly shallow, I was thankful for/excited about the bottle of Cristal Champagne He brought home from work just before Christmas. I’ve read about it, mentioned it in my own books (though can’t remember if the mentions stayed in through copy-edits, actually) and admired its pretty packaging in the posh wine shop window in town. I’m also thankful that, being a complete philistine, I couldn’t tell the difference between that and Sainsbury’s finest. I'm calling that a saving of £200 every celebratory occasion.

• Just Dance/ Just Dance 2 on the Wii, both of which appeared under our tree this Christmas. Much hilarity, although trying to keep up with Teen Dancing Queen daughters is a sobering reminder of my age. Although, who would have thought He would turn out to be such a hot MC Hammer impersonator, or that after 20 years I'd still be finding stuff out that I didn't know about my husband?

• I’m thankful that, due to my utter flakiness in seeing through my new year resolutions for 2010 I am saved from having to think up more for 2011. And that the house and the fridge are both empty now and, positive energy duly recharged, I can finally get down to some proper work.

So, does anyone actually keep a gratitude journal? If you did what would you put down for today?

Cold Turkey

I am trying very hard to adjust to life without chocolate for breakfast, all day drinking, mornings spent in bed, afternoons spent on the sofa watching films, and foraging for leftover-based meals requiring no planning or cooking at all. Frankly, it’s not going well. Might have to go back to bed with the box of Hotel Chocolat Caramel Angels sent to me by the gorgeous Kate Hardy until school pick up time.


I'll leave you with a picture of the gingerbread house the daughters and I spent all of Christmas Eve painstakingly constructing. (If you look carefully you can see where the jelly tots have been removed from around the window. Honestly, did my children learn nothing from the story of Hansel and Gretel?)

Happy 2011 everyone. How was the holiday for you?

Office Party

Just a few hours left until daughter #3 breaks up for Christmas, which means it’s my last proper working day of the year. If I had a real job I figure this would probably be the day of the Office Party, so in order not to miss out this year I have decided to host my own. In honour of the occasion I have put on an extra squirt of perfume and a jumper with a minimal amount of bobbling, and am preparing to crack open a tub of Marks and Spencers’ Christmas Soup. I shall then give a short speech, thanking myself for all my effort this year (glossing over the horribly missed deadline in April. Or was it originally meant to be February?) and inciting myself to further endeavour in 2011. I might even drain the last inch of red wine left in the bottle by the cooker and make a toast to all of you lot, who buy my books, say nice things about them, continue to visit this blog even though I'm rubbish at keeping it updated, and make me laugh.

I wonder if Ruby the cat will pull a cracker with me?

Cold.

As in, a) it is - very - and b)I have one. Have been feeling extremely sorry for myself, although was temporarily roused from my slough of self-pity by the drama of this morning's school run. Here in Cheshire we have escaped the worst of the snow (although the frost the last two mornings has been very Lion, Witch and Wardrobe-esqe) but rain early this morning had frozen fast, coating the roads and pavements with an inch of glassy ice and making the journey to school a cross between an extreme sport and a comedy sketch. I don't suppose the three cars we passed half-buried in the hedge were laughing much though.

Anyway, The Cold (both kinds) has just added another challenge in the annual game we call 'Getting Ready for Christmas'. Every year as I struggle to fit in work, basic I domestic duties, shopping and queueing in the post office around attending nativity plays, carol concerts and making cheese and pineapple cubes for 50 children for the class party it strikes me that this does have real potential as an actual board game and I resolve to make up a prototype and send it off to industry insiders the moment I have time. It'll be marketed at women, obviously, and will include things like 'Make your own mince pies - go forward 3 spaces' and 'Fail to find anything remotely flattering to wear for husband's office Christmas party - miss a turn'. 'Come down with revolting cold and bore everyone with your moaning' will also warrant a missed turn while 'Get your children to eat sprouts' and 'Post all presents before last possible dates and avoid paying three hundred pounds in special delivery rates' will earn you an extra turn and a champagne cocktail token. I'd really want Lauren Child to illustrate it. Anything else I should include?

I'll leave you to ponder that and retreat gratefully into Fictionland where my hero and heroine are at a wedding in sunny Italy. Let me know your ideas and we'll share the profits, OK?

It's beginning to look a lot like...

...(dare I say it?) Christmas.

Oh yes. Not only is it snowing, in a charming, fluffy, Pinewood studios way but, dear blog readers, I can smugly reveal that I have survived my first assault on the shops, and even have a stash of carrier bags under the bed to show for it. Yesterday* saw the annual concert of the Young Voices Choir (not to be confused with New Voices, which I have constantly done over the past couple of months, much to the irritation of my daughters and no doubt editors and other writers to whom I've conversed on the subject of the recent M&B contest) at the MEN arena in Manchester in which the daughters’ primary school always take part. Over the years this event has become a sort of seasonal starter’s whistle in my mind; the children are whisked away to warm up their vocal chords and us mums are deposited in the centre of Manchester with an entire day and a whole lot of extremely yummy shops at our disposal. As a campaign veteran (the t-shirt worn by daughter #3 yesterday says Young Voices 2003 on it and has been worn by both sisters) I now know that it’s a mistake to slip into Harvey Nichols champagne bar too early, so held off until we had more bags than we could comfortably carry and had spent more money than we could comfortably afford (and had tried on more perfume in Selfridges than was perhaps quite sociable. But at least it meant we could spread all our shopping out nicely.)

After the shopping and champagne comes the squeezing carrier bags into the narrow tiered seats of the arena and watching 6000 children sing their socks off. I have actually used the little circling device on my computer to show you where daughter #3 was, but you can't even see the circle. She's in the last section lit by white light, next to the blue-lit one. See her? Yes, there! Isn't she gorgeous?

There's always a moment when the children start to sing and the hairs on the back of your neck rise. This year it was their version of Cyndi Lauper's True Colours that set me off. Sniff. I knew that second glass of wine was a mistake.

(I was too busy reaching for the tissues to record that bit, but did remember to whip my phone out and find the camcorder function a little later. Here's one minute of World in Union. In the corner of the screen you can see the fabulous light up balloons we took so the children could spot us!)

Anyway, after getting back at midnight last night and waking up to thick snow this morning, today has had a funny kind of suspended-reality feeling that has been most un-conducive to getting stuck into the next book, and most conducive to getting stuck into the stash of posh Harvey Nicks mince pies I bought as presents. Oh dear. (Am clearly very closely in touch with my inner cavewoman and compelled by a primitive instinct to lay down winter fat to keep out savage cold. However, since cavewomen were not burdened with the task of buying three thousand Christmas presents or fitting into jeans, I probably should pay more attention to my outer 21st century writer-with-a-deadline-and-half-a-stone-to-lose and step away from the HN foodhall bags.)

On a positive note, I have managed to do a bit of light packaging up, so books will be on their way to Kristy, Ruth, Joanne, Denise, Janette, Kelly, Joanna, Mary, Amanda and Amanda. I don’t have as many copies of Her Last Night of Innocence as I’d thought, since on closer examination the box that I thought was filled with them contained a number of translation copies too Japanese Spanish Aristocrat anyone? Or Greek Powerful Italian? If you'd like a book in any other language let me know and I'd be delighted to send you one if I have it.

Right, had better pile on a few more layers and brave Siberian conditions to go to the post office. Am already looking like a cross between a teletubby and an extra in Dr Zhivago, however. Hope I don't meet anyone I know. How's the weather with you?

*was, in fact, Monday, but since I have the kind of goldfish brain that can't retain information like how to upload stuff from phone to blog this didn't get posted yesterday. Sorry!

To be... (Or not to be, which is probably the likely outcome)

So the fireworks have faded into the (deliciously clear) night, the last sky lantern has drifted silently and serenely across the big full moon and, suddenly, it’s January again.

But it has been a lovely Christmas.

As always, the majority of the week was spent on the sofa in front of the fire in assorted variations on pyjamas, but – oh joy – as my clever and fabulous husband bought me a sumptuous cross between an oversized cardigan and a dressing gown in whisper-soft pale grey cashmere I was even more than usually unapologetic about this. It is a thing of such glamour and loveliness that it almost makes me believe I can turn into the kind of serene person who rises early to drink herbal tea and calmly dash off a couple of thousand inspired words before doing an hour of yogic meditation and facing the school run with calm competence. In fact, I may not take it off much in the next grueling month as I thrash out this book, although I do have to admit that this will test its personality-transforming capabilities to the limit.

Which brings me neatly onto Kathy's point about New Year’s resolutions. In the past I’ve been a bit casual about these for the simple reason that I’m all too aware of my dismal lack of willpower and know that by vowing to swap chocolate and wine for gym membership (shudder) and carrot juice I’d be setting myself up to fail spectacularly. However, since this is the year that I’m going to turn 40 I’ve reluctantly decided that it’s probably time to be a bit more grown-up in several areas of my life. So, in view of that and the curent Book Situation I’ve come up with the following:

1. To be... unafraid.
   This has a pleasingly grandiloquent ring to it, but it actually means I intend to stop lying awake staring at the crack in the bedroom ceiling and worrying that it’s a sign of drastic subsidence and the entire house is going to implode any second, in the style of that building in Venice at the end of Casino Royale. It also means I'm going to try to give up obsessing over life-threatening illness, hideous freak accidents and my children becoming a statistic in the government’s figures for vicious crime, teenage binge drinking and cyber bullying because let’s face it, there are so many more appealing things to obsess about. (James D’Arcy, Daniel Craig for starters. And both together since I watched Flashbacks of a Fool the other night. Good film. Great soundtrack. Glorious first five minutes.)
2. To be... more efficient.
   Oh yes, this is the Big One. The time has come for the High Priestess of Procrastination to embrace the concept of time management. I absolutely can’t continue to lose whole days to ‘research’ (browsing youtube) or messing about rearranging a couple of paragraphs before deciding to scrap them and start again. I need to sharpen up and force myself to focus. I need a masterclass in efficiency and self-discipline from Kate Hardy, or Kate Hewitt (both uber-romance goddesses with families and an awesome catalogue of brilliant books behind them.) And I as my hopelessly-messed-about-with and book is due terrifyingly soon, I need it NOW.
3. To be... more wholesome.
   Must give up scoffing chocolate digestives straight from the packet and feeding the children supermarket pizza because I’ve been too busy not writing to cook something proper. Shall capitalize on last year’s success with the runner beans and lettuces and bring forth a bountiful harvest of organic goodness from the meagre soil of our garden this summer. (Though obviously have to master 2.) Time management first. And also not compromise too much on 4.) which is….)
   
4. To be... more high maintenance
   Because I know it’s the depths of winter and baths are for wallowing and dreaming and drinking wine/tea/damson gin and reading, but really… would it kill me to drag a razor over my legs once in a while?
   
   Gulp. There they are and I feel weary already. Now I’ve told you mine, you tell me yours!
   
   

Listening for the angels...

I am done with shopping. I have totally had enough of overheated department stores, juggling bags and gloves and overpackaged purchases to get my credit card out. Again. And again. I am heartily sick of hearing endless budget karaoke versions of 'Santa Baby' and 'Fairytale of New York' and am now craving space and silence and still, frosty woodland so that I can pick up that invisible thread that connects us all down thousands of years of Christmases.

Am going out to cut holly and clear my head of vile twenty-first century commercialism and take time to be grateful for all that I have (eg. lovely family, all of you, ten thousand reasonably workable words of a book that has to be in in January) And not worry about the things I haven’t got (enough wrapping paper, a present for the bin men, the particular kind of Lancashire cheese my mother likes.)

Wishing you all peace, love, health and hope this Christmas. And a big tin of Roses chocolates, of course.

First I do Christmas and then I conquer the world....

The one good thing about having a party on the 18th December is that it forces you to tidy away all the clutter beforehand, and give the house a thorough cleaning afterwards. Spent much of Saturday washing sofa covers and scrubbing the kitchen (don't ask) with the result that everywhere is now looking unnaturally tidy, gleaming and like the home of someone who is in control of the whole Christmas juggernaut.

Of course, this is all a complete illusion, but at least after a last frantic shopping day yesterday the daughters are roughly equal in present terms. This is an annual challenge; balancing the number of parcels to be unwrapped with both the 'wow factor' and the amount spent, and having three girls makes it particularly challenging. Choosing sparkly fripperies that are equal in charm and value and yet still distinctly original and well-suited to the daughter in question requires a range of skills that you could only possibly hope to find if you melted together the brains of a management accountant, a psychologist, Kofi Anan and one of those style journalists who do annoying London-centric shopping features in Sunday magazines.

Anyway, in the midst of all this it's been fabulous to discover that so many people took the time out of their own festive preparations to answer the competiton question for a chance to win a copy of Powerful Italian Penniless Housekeeper (and it's also been gorgeous to get your messages in the emails too.) The daughters picked two winners each from an empty Quality Street box, and the names that came out are... Peggy, Jacqueline, Kelly, Jayne H, Sri and Susan. I'll email you later to get addresses and put the books in the post (where they'll no doubt spend a quiet Christmas, but hopefully arrive soon after.)

Am now off to look for something to give the children for breakfast. This year I very cunningly booked my Sainsburys online shop well in advance and felt enormously smug and in control. However, when it was delivered on Sunday I remembered that I'd only ordered bizarre seasonal items like dill sauce, mini-sausages-wrapped-in-bacon and 300 lemons and there isn't a box of Cheerios in sight.

(I wonder what toast and brandy butter is like?)

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...

Back from a weekend away on His home ground in South Oxfordshire, delivering presents to grandparents and godchildren. Driving through postcard-pretty villages with brick-and-flint churches, duckponds and ancient pubs I was reminded at every turn of Powerful Italian, Penniless Housekeeper (the first part of which was very specifically set there.)

Unfortunately I was also reminded of my utter failure to blog about the book and its background and characters as promised last week, and came back up the M40 full of virtuous resolutions to do it first thing this morning. (Or at least after I'd been to the supermarket, the post office and the dry cleaners.) However, a phonecall just now from the lovely and long-suffering secretary at Daughter #3's school, gently reminding me that it's the Juniors' Christmas party this afternoon and that I need to bring in party clothes and 50 cheese and pineapple cubes on cocktail sticks has turned my resolutions to ashes.

(Cheese and pineapple cubes? Does anyone eat those these days? And do I have to fashion them into a retro-style hedgehog?)

Back tomorrow. Honest.

Today's comment on contemporary culture

I read with interest that the Advertising Standards Authority have received complaints from several viewers this year's M&S Christmas advert (sacrilege!) Apparently gruff Philip Glenister’s line about ‘that girl prancing around in her underwear’ is considered by some to be offensive and 'demeaning to women.' Gosh. Funnily enough, I don’t feel terribly demeaned when I watch that bit. Wistful, maybe, and slightly depressed. I'm sure lovely, bad-tempered Philip wouldn't consider it a festive highlight to watch me prancing (prancing? Not sure I even know how…) in my grim, workhouse undergarments.

I hope that M&S respond, with due responsibility, by making a second installment featuring Robert Pattinson stripping off to his (100% easycare cotton) boxers. Actually, I think I might complain too, just to add weight to the argument.

(Have just realized that this is the latest in a succession of TV-related blog posts recently.Oh dear, my cultural references are pitifully limited. Come back next week when I shall be analysing the use of dramatic irony in Harry Hill's TV Burp and discussing madness and morality in the X-Factor.)

All over for another year

I've come to the conclusion that Christmas is a mini-metaphor for my whole life. At the time I’m so busy worrying about calories, feeling guilty for not buying enough batteries and obsessing about giving 27 of my nearest and dearest food poisoning from inadequately cooked turkey that I don’t remember to enjoy it properly. Afterwards, frantically hunting for bits of stray school uniform in the bottom 0f the laundry basket and nagging about homework and thank you letters, I think back over two weeks of lie-ins, all day champagne drinking and afternoons on the sofa watching films and think 'Blimey, that was fantastic.'

Anyway, the tree has come down and the decorations have been put away, meaning that this morning the only lingering traces of Christmas are my bulging waistline and the numerous crates of empty bottles outside awaiting recycling. On Saturday we enjoyed the last hurrah of the festive season by going for a long, long walk with some lovely friends through snowy woodland that looked more like Narnia than Cheshire. The eldest of their 3 boys had got a storm kettle for Christmas which he used to heat up delicious mulled wine for us all. Found myself considering swapping him for daughter #1, since teenage boy accessories are clearly far more useful than the quantities of nail varnish, body sprays and sparkly makeup that appeared under our tree, and boys seem to have a compulsion to Do Things, whereas teenage girls appear to be able to make elegant languor into a full time occupation. However, when we got back to our house and I fed them all I realised I couldn’t possibly afford to keep one.

So, today it's back to business. If only I could remember what that was. I have to confess that I haven't yet posted off the competition prizes, so will be making a trek through the snow to the post office this morning and steering my mind back to the long neglected book. I have so much to do in the next few weeks that if I think about it too much I'll cry. Or go back to bed. Or both.

The Final Cracker!

And who else could it be? International man of mystery; world famous yet perenially elusive philanthropist and distributor of gifts across the globe (ergo probably a billionaire?) Father Christmas has more Presents hero qualities than you might think. And the best thing about him is that-- unlike Sting and Rodrigo and Colin and all the rest, he's coming to your house tomorrow night! As long as you've been good all year....

So what shall we ask him for, ladies? To cover all bases I'm asking for three things that are pretty affordable, three things that are optimistically and wickedly expensive, and-- because he's magic-- three things that are absolutely priceless. Here's my list...

1. Cheap.
   A red bounty. Hard to track down dark chocolate version of the coconut and chocolate bar, and a few bites of heaven for 55p
   
2. 
   2. Vaseline hand cream.
   3. Any of the January release M&B's. There are some fab titles coming up, from Kate Hewitt, Lynne Graham, Sara Craven, Miranda Lee... Essential festive bathtime escapism

Extravagant

1. Perfume. I love this stuff... No 1 most of the year, but X at Christmas for its dark, spicy pine and cedar scent.
2. This scarf. (sigh) I love the colour and it's cashmere from Himalayan goats, you know... (it's also 109 of your finest English pounds and well out of my league...)

3. This chair. In my office. In pink.

Priceless.

1. Huge investment in the NHS and massive pay increases for nurses
2. For daughter #1 to believe me when I tell her she's beautiful
3. Clean drinking water for everyone, everywhere, because our inadequate Christmas donation to Wateraid just isn't going to solve the problem.
   (Oh, and 4. James D'Arcy and some mistletoe...)

Aside from that I really am blessed in that I have everything I could reasonably want, so now seems like a good time to say thank you all so much for another year of support and sharing-- of your thoughts and your time and your kindness. (Sniff.) You're all gorgeous. Happy Christmas to everyone and a peaceful and perfect new year.

Christmas Cracker number Seven!!

Haved just waved the children off to school with Him in charge, (laden down with badly wrapped presents for teachers, long overdue dinner money and reply slips for 47 letters from the last half term) and have now retreated back into the warm to drink tea and watch trashy TV, with the totally legitimate excuse that I'm awaiting a call from a journalist for a telephone interview. Definitely feel that I have the better deal here, which has provoked a guilty awareness that, for all my moaning about the shortcomings of the domestic male in general and my own specimen in particular, this is actually quite often the case.

I'm not just thinking about his services as spider exterminator and putter-up of shelves, but about the bigger stuff too, like the fact that he kept the faith (and-- more to the point-- kept me) during the long years when I was writing lots and earning nothing. He brings me cups of tea and glasses of wine (according to time of day/level of desperation) while I wrestle with deadlines and listens endlessly (or at least makes and effort to look like he's listening) as I try to work out plot twists and character motivation. He graciously puts up with my enthusiasm for searching out new hero material, and my unrestrained and voiciferous appreciation of certain character prototypes (James D'Arcy/Orlando) So, in view of all that, and since today is our sixteenth Wedding Anniversary I thought that today's Christmas Cracker really ought to be Him.

Us on our wedding day-- December 19th 1854 (or does it just seem that long ago?)

(...and here we are later, in a spooky foreshadowing of Things To Come, doing our very own version of a Mills & Boon cover shot...)

In other news, tonight-- right after we heft the giant Christmas tree in from the garden and watch the children decorate the bottom left hand corner of it-- I'm going to draw a winner for my half of the competition Kate Hewitt and I have been running, so if you haven't done so yet, leave a comment to be included! (If I don't do it soon I'm going to give into the temptation to keep the sweet little Hultquist necklace I bought the other day, which would be very Wrong of me.)

Christmas Cracker number six

Those clementines look unappealing in the extreme but just listen to the voice and watch the hands...

I particularly like the drizzly caramel bit for some reason. And I'd dearly love to have Jean Christophe Novelli in my kitchen on Christmas day.

More Christmas Totty (aka Christmas Cracker number Five)

Today He has taken the day off work and we’re going to nail Christmas once and for all. At least that’s what He thinks, because he has no conception of the enormity of the job nor how short the school day actually is. Shall no doubt return home later with repetitive strain injury from handing the credit card over so often and the threat of acrimonious divorce hanging over us.

However, in the midst of all that I’m also planning to buy something suitably sparkly and Christmassy as a prize for the contest Kate Hewitt and I are running together. Anyone who leaves a comment this week will automatically be entered—keep your random thoughts about what makes a man irresistible coming! (I'd much rather be applying my mind to that issue than to whether the turkey I've ordered will fit in my oven.)

In the meantime here's today's Christmas Cracker for your attention, ladies...

(PS-- sincere apologies to anyone who's awaiting an email from me. I've got horribly behind on everything but will catch up soon, I hope.) (Cue the sound of hollow laughter...)

Christmas Cracker number Four

Or, more accurately, Four Christmas Crackers. (Or three and a half, depending on how much you fancy the slightly shorter one with the best voice.) Which member of Il Divo would you like to find in your stocking this Christmas? (There's a question for you to mull over while you queue in the post office today...)

Last night we went to the final performance of daughters 2 and 3's Christmas play. Sitting in the dark, crammed onto a chair at least three sizes too small for my bottom, wedged to one side by the width of my husband's shoulders in the seat pressed up against mine (the closest physical contact we've had time to enjoy for weeks) I watched the angels blinking and glittering in the stage lights while Mary nursed the baby and Joseph picked his nose and decided that, when daughter #3 goes up to high school in 4 years time I shall have to find some pretext to come back each year. Christmas is simply unthinkable without it.

Christmas Cracker number Three

Feeling utterly rubbish today, having been poleaxed by some vile winter bug whose main symptom seems to be the feeling that you've been dropped from the top of a very tall building. So, Christmas Cracker #3 is someone gentle and comforting, who you could just imagine bringing you hot chocolate in bed. Because occasionally, isn't that all you want?

I'm loving hearing all about the kind of men you want to read about, although oddly enough so far no-one's mentioned anything about hot-chocolate bearing jazz pianists. Let's see if Harry Connick jr and his Astonishing Blue Eyes can persuade you. Click on the picture to watch him in festive action...



(And keep those men coming!)

Christmas Cracker Number Two, and a competition!

After a busy few days of family and friends and endless hours spent on sleet-lashed motorways I’m struggling to catch up on ordinary life. Whoever thought it was a good idea to go away the weekend before the busiest week of the school year? Oh yes, that would be Him then.

Kate Hewitt is way ahead of me in bringing you news of the joint competition we’re holding. Both of us are at the point of embarking on new books, so we’re asking you to tell us about the kind of settings and heroes you like best. This follows neatly on from the ‘hot hero’ discussion we had here a couple of weeks ago, so leave your top tips for melting men here (ooh—check me out—I’ve gone all alliterative) and your favourite fantasy settings on Kate’s blog and we’ll each draw a winner next week. (And who knows—the combination may just end up being a book waiting to be written, in which case Kate and I will have an undignified wrangle over who gets to do it...) You don’t necessarily have to supply names of specific individuals for the hero (unless you want to) but now’s your chance to throw in any physical attributes, personality traits, mannerisms, values, nationalities, family circumstances even particular professions that you love reading about and which help to create a man who turns your knees to water.

Talking of which, here’s Christmas Cracker number two. (BIG sigh.)

The only clip I could find of this on youtube is dubbed in Spanish, but I watched it about 3 times before I noticed because unsurprisingly, I wasn’t listening to the words. I want to go to an office Christmas party and I want a dress like that and I want Rodrigo Santoro to be there. And I want to leave my mobile phone in the taxi on the way home.

December

Why is it that throughout November I am always in total denial about Christmas, telling myself (and the children—at least 700 times a day) that it is far too early to start making cards/mince pies and listening to daughter #1s illegal download of Now That’s What I Call Xmas Volume 294 on the way to school.

Someone please remind me next year (perhaps around late August) that this is a grave tactical error.

However, am fending off feelings of unfestive despair at my complete organisational incompetence by planning some blog treats to keep us all going in the run up to Christmas. Come back tomorrow for the first of my timely reminders of the joys of the season!