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Martel Maxwell: ‘How can it only be nine sleeps until Christmas?’

Martel Maxwell: ‘How can it only be nine sleeps until Christmas?’

Nine sleeps to Christmas.

The more I say it, the less I believe it.

Normally (even though, as regular readers know, I’m the kind of girl who starts playing Christmas tunes in November) it sneaks up on you.

But this year December 25 is hurtling towards us so quickly it’s nothing short of surreal.

Maybe you’re all organised – presents wrapped, dinner planned, cards sent – but I sense I’m not alone in my startled rabbit-ness.

Perhaps it’s because normally, on any given previous year, the months are punctuated by big events.

At Easter we go to parks and kids meet up for egg hunts; in summer we might escape for a week or two abroad; we guise with the kids in October, and so it goes on.

But when the year is flatter, without fanfare of occasions that mark the passing of the calendar, suddenly and weirdly the end of that year is approaching and I for one, for the first time, can’t quite enter the spirit.

My organisation is dire.

At the time of writing, I have thus far bought two lipsticks for presents – the sum total of my Christmas shopping.


Read more by Martel Maxwell here

Fine when I was a single lass and shopping could wait until Christmas Eve as invariably it did.

But with three wee ones and people relying on a few sherries at our house, I’d best get a move on.

The tree, normally up on December 1, is finally – as of two nights ago – twinkling away, along with the kids’ stockings hung above the fireplace.

It’s helped get in the mood. As has Driving Home For Christmas, Last Christmas, Let It Snow, Fairytale of New York and all the usual suspects played on loop in the car.

Maybe if I’d been more organised in the first place, I’d be more in the swing of things, like the mum who told me she’d wrapped everything in November (never going to be me).

A pal – the one who said she turned into Sue Ellen from Dallas during home schooling (for those of you too young to remember, think mascara-down-to-your chin, swaying slightly, permanently clutching a glass of wine) made me laugh, and feel better, when she put it like this: “The party month of December? I’ve been drunk since March.”

Whichever camp you fall into, truth is, we need something to celebrate.

So let’s embrace the chintz, weight gain, sore heads, fizz, love, gifts, kindness, songs, glitter, family fall-outs and everything else Christmas brings and show 2020 it might have knocked us down but as Chumbawamba said, we’ll get back up again.

And to continue the slightly cheesy 90s musical theme, in the words of D:ream: Things Can Only Get Better.

This article originally appeared on the Evening Telegraph website. For more information, read about our new combined website.