Rachel and I stupidly left our Christmas shopping until yesterday, at which point we decided it could be put off no longer and reluctantly made our way into the Christmas hell hole that is Stevenage town centre, which, of course, was selling everything EXCEPT the things we were looking for (unless you're the kind of person who'd take joy in receiving a G-string made from those dolly bead sweets. I'm not sure my gran would be thrilled). Rachel had a moment or several whereby she wanted to give up completely, but ended up purchasing a bottle of sangria and boxes of chocolates in a variety of unwrappable shapes (star, pyramid and the like), a mistake I myself also made. But at least it's done so hopefully the next time I venture into town I won't have my eyes scarred by a myriad of vile brightly coloured Santa-shaped decorations.

So has it all got to me?

Well, I'll let you make your own mind up. I can sing along to the Christmas Hellman's Mayonnaise advert word for word, although sadly the pitch and tune of my singing belong on another planet. And yesterday I also felt like a prize twat as I saw the postman walking away from my front door, opened my bedroom window and shrieked at him to come back, thinking he had a package of DVDs for me, which in fact he did not (though they did arrive later). It didn't help that I was in pyjamas and had crazy hair resembling someone who'd been attached to a reasonably strong electric current. Oh the shame!

Tonight will be the traditional going out to the pub to get a little bit merry. I think Christmas Eve is actually my favourite day of the whole Christmas season. I plan on enjoying it. And if the Hellman's advert happens to come on I'll switch off the tv and go and have a lie down in a darkened room for ten minutes.

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