Why do I do these things? It was nearly four on Christmas morning before Simon and I got to bed, Stella had chickened at twelve, and Tom and hour later. We were getting punchy by the time we collapsed between the sheets.

Nothing had gone right. I’d finally managed to get Mima to bed by seven. That should have given us five hours to sort things out. No she wouldn’t stay there, she was too excited waiting for Santa Claus. Tom came and read to her, he was nodding off, she was still bouncing around.

I felt awful, I had to invoke the ultimate anti-child spell, “If you get out of that bed once more, Jemima, I am going to tell Santa not to visit.” It worked a treat, she was now bouncing and bawling. I felt like throwing myself out of the window, actually, I felt like throwing someone else out of the window, but it’s not allowed, and social services would have had an early Christmas present.

Finally, she calmed down and I told her a very boring story with loads of detail, it confused her and she became almost trancelike, at this point I told her to go to sleep–and she did, just like that. It was nine, I dashed downstairs, closing the gate at the top.

Chaos reigned down below. Simon had potted the tree, which was only about six foot tall. Then he and Tom carried it in, and Stella did most of the decorations, except the lights, Simon was sorting them when Kiki came in and watered the tree and fused the lights–and the ring main.

Guess who had to fix it? That’s right, Tom, he was the only one who knew where the fuse box was. Thankfully, it was a trip-switch, so we didn’t have to mess about with bits of wire. We were without Christmas lights.

Simon, in a flash of brilliance–no he hadn’t fused as well–phoned the local supermarket, and they had a spare set for sale, they put them over at the petrol station so he drove over to get them. Kiki was banished to the conservatory–well how was she to know–it’s a tree and it’s what dogs do, except bitches aren’t supposed to cock their legs. Maybe I’m not the only gender confused inhabitant of the house?

I cleaned up the mess and after wiping the lights, removing bulbs and wiping some more, I got them working and on the tree just before Simon got back. He would have been livid, but the expression on my face probably saw off the dissent, he felt he was too young to die.

Stella wrapped presents for Mima, while Tom helped me put up the paper chains, assorted wall decorations, and hundreds of cards on bits of string. It was half past ten, and we stopped for a cuppa. Then back to round two. Simon set up the video camera so it would be able to catch Mima as she came into the room. We were going to shut the door before we went to bed, so she couldn’t go on there if she got past the gates on the stairs, plus the search lights and electrified razor wire fencing.

I went into the dining room and wrapped the others presents. I hoped they’d like them. The pile under the tree began to grow.

I prepared vegetables and put them in the fridge. It was midnight and Stella went to bed. More disaster, the lights fused again, Kiki was asleep in the conservatory. Plan B, use new set.

“Watch the tree doesn’t fall over, Si … okay, wait there I’ll get Tom to help me get it off you …” How can removing lights be so difficult? It was, tonsils would have been easier.

An hour later, tree is back up and Tom has gone to bed, lights fuse again. Simon suggests we douse tree in petrol and strike match. I disabuse him of this idea by threatening to stick him on top of said tree.

Another hour passes and I find problem in lights, broken cable by one of the fittings. I repair with insulating tape and fuse wire. Simon mentions something about fire insurance. I decide he might not survive the night. It was about a month since my last flare up of irritability, maybe it was a form of PMS. Whatever, I was still going to kill him.

We arranged the presents, so Mima wouldn’t need to destroy everyone else’s to find hers. I was feeling very tired and my homicidal tendencies were not easing.

Simon held the ladder while I put the mistletoe up, then he insisted on kissing me under it. “Now you’ll have to give me a present,” I said.

“Just as soon as we get up to bed,” he said winking.

“Not tonight, Josephine,” I responded, “I couldn’t give a shit, let alone a f–anything more energetic.”

He shrugged, and helped me tie up the holly and the balloons. At four, I gave in and crawled up the stairs, I was so tired I nearly fell asleep halfway up them.

“Mummy, Mummy, Daddy, is Chwismus.”

In my dream, I was being pestered by a giant mosquito, which having buzzed all around me was now tapping my arm to find a place to bite. I was waiting for prolonged contact, then I was going to rip its head off. For some reason I didn’t, maybe I was just too tired, or it might have been Simon physically restraining me. Either way, Mima survived waking us at six.

I’d put a small present in her stocking at the end of her bed. It was a soft bodied doll, that she could cuddle. However, she didn’t want to cuddle, she wanted to feed it breakfast, in the kitchen. She was not going to go back to bed, nor was she going to cuddle with us, she was awake and primed like a shaken can of cola. I yawned, wondering if we had the number for the local children’s home–I was so tired.

Simon was also yawning but slightly more alert than I was. He pulled on his dressing gown and pulled me out of bed, I threw on my wrap, and together we went downstairs with Mima. I took her into the kitchen to feed Dolly, while Simon slipped into the lounge to switch on the lights and his video.

Mima ate a tiny amount of cereal while feeding her dolly. My patience was very poor and I was fighting myself to stay patient. Next year I was going to tell her that Santa Claus had had an accident on the M27 and was still in hospital.

Simon called from the lounge, it sounded like trouble, oh no, not the fuse again? I dashed in and he filmed me, swearing at him and threatening to terminate his useless existence. Mima came in a moment later and saw the tree and all the trimmings, squealed and legged it. Now’s a fine time to discover she has some sort of dendrophobia.

I ran after her and calmed her down, explaining that there wasn’t a monster in the room, it was Simon–okay, it was a tree, a Christmas tree. I led her in and she was anxious, pulling back towards the door. The room was dark except for the tree and a few other twinkling lights.

Once over her initial shock, she was able to approach the tree and touch it. If I’d known she’d have had such trouble, I wouldn’t have bothered, or got a tiny one of those fibre optic ones which switch colour every two seconds.

“Come on, Meems, let’s go and feed dolly some more breakfast. She surrendered without a fight and I managed to get the rest of her cereal down her throat. Then I had some of my own, and we made a cuppa for Stella which we took up to her. Give her some practice in being woken early on Christmas morning.

Stella looked as fresh as a daisy–I was so envious, I could have cried, or better still, got into her warm bed and slept the rest of the day. She drank her tea and amused Mima, while I dozed sitting in the chair.

Then it was back downstairs, wake Simon and let the kid lose on her prezzies. I explained to her which were hers, she still opened half of mine. Not that I cared too much, I was so tired, I could have slept on a clothes line.

She had a new bike, a trailer bike which I could attach to my mountain bike and pull her along. The way I felt, she might have to tow me. I did remember to turn on the oven for the turkey, I did think to crawl in there myself except it would have been too tight a fit.

After some strong coffee, I rallied enough to put the turkey in, Pippa and her boys were coming for lunch, all riding their new bikes. Oh poo, why did I have to invite them? It was all too much trouble.

Finally, at mid-morning, Mima ran out of steam and fell asleep on the sofa. I curled up for an hour, too. Sadly, all I got was half an hour, but it made me feel so much better. I went and showered, then when Mima woke, showered and dressed her. I’d bought her a new pink dress, which she liked and wore with great enthusiasm. I had a top and skirt on, Stella wore a top and maternity pants, Simon a pair of slacks with the new shirt and sweater I’d got him, and Tom had the same.

I quickly vacuumed through and Stella popped the roasties in. Amazingly, Pippa and her two boys, plus her Mum, arrived ten minutes before lunch was ready. Simon had opened the wine first thing, a nice red, three bottles, just in case.

Tom carved the turkey after we said grace–why, beats me, but it made some of the others feel better, and perhaps it makes one less complacent in ones expectations, or does it?

We all ate and drank and had a good time. Then while the adults drank coffee and ate mints, the kids ate sweets and unwrapped the next lot of parcels. I’d forgotten my own presents, I’d been so tired and busy.

Simon gave me a new camera–a Nikon SLR, it had a bigger brain than me! It does everything, except press the shutter, and at five frames a second, would be good for bike races. Stella gave me the telephoto lens, and Tom the Photoshop software to tidy up the photos I took. It was perfect.

Simon liked his F1 driving lesson at Brands Hatch, he had to sort out a date for it. Stella, I bought a day’s session at a spa, which she thought she’d have after the baby was born and I was able to look after it for her, for the day–damn, shot myself in the foot, there. Tom–what can you buy the man who has everything? A painting of his house. The three of us commissioned a local artist to do it, and it was a splendid job. He took several photos and we chose the view we wanted. He was really pleased, especially when it was followed by half a case of twelve year old, single malt.

The boys had prezzies to open, too, I’d got them cycling gloves and helmets. Pippa got a bottle of her favourite perfume–well the eau de toilette, and her mum, a new pair of gloves.

I sat in the kitchen with the dishwasher humming away and fell asleep while the others all watched Wallace and Grommett on the telly. I suppose it had been a different sort of Christmas.