Are you puckerood?
I do hope not, but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you were.
I mean, there are the cards to write and the presents to buy and the food to plan and the ever-so-intricate packing of the fridge; and then there's the wondering how to stop Uncle Bob and Cousin Beryl starting World War 3 over the shape of the roast potatoes (they raise huge and terrifying passions, do roast potatoes); and that's without taking into account the broken sleep because we keep jerking awake and sitting up staring into the darkness shouting batteries!
Or brandy butter!
Or toilet roll!
Or perhaps you don't bother with any of that, and all you have to do is sing the Messiah, go to five parties, work out how to get the car to start in fifteen degrees of frost, make twenty four brownies for the Brownies' party (plus a gift for Brown Owl!), knit five shepherd costumes, and find out which wine goes with turkey.
Even if you're lazy, the mere sight of the endless countdown-to-Christmas articles in every newspaper and magazine (brussels sprouts with almonds, chestnuts, and paprika, with home-made onion marmelade garnished with parsnip chips) is enough to make you feel faint.
I know it makes ME feel faint.
...no. There really isn't any way out, is there?
We're all going to be puckerooed.
Thing We're Bound To Do Today: be puckerooed. This gorgeous word comes from the Maori pakaru and means shattered.