Yet again, I have a flaming cold! I am starting to believe that it’s not actually a new cold every time, simply that I have a very tenacious breed of cold that never actually goes away. I suspect that when I think I have chased it away with copious amounts of flu-plus and Halls Mentholyptus, what actually happens is that it goes and sits at the back of my knicker drawer, muttering to itself and plotting my future downfall. Then when the opportunity presents itself it leaps out and renews its attempt at Claire Domination. There is an upside to this however, as on Christmas Eve I plan to give Rudolph the night off and guide Santa’s sleigh with my bright red hooter.
Despite my lurgy, however;
I went food shopping. This was a grave mistake, because the crowds and weather combined meant that I succumbed to CFSHCS – that’s Christmas Food Shopping Headless Chicken Syndrome. I found myself standing in Iceland (the frozen food store where Mums go, although after watching Jason Donovan on that annoying advert I may never go there again) in a state of blind panic moo-ing (yes, I do mean moo-ing) “I don’t know what to buy! I don’t know what to buy! I don’t know what we need! Do we need anything? I just don’t knoooooooooow!”.
This should not have happened, as only ten days ago I was basking in a warm glow caused by my ‘Readiness for Christmas’. And it’s true, I was ready. Right up to the point where my friend said to me “What are you doing Boxing Day?” “Nothing,” said I, “Just staying quietly at home.”
“Excellent!” says (soon to be ex) friend, “We’ll come round in the afternoon! Don’t worry about cooking, you can just do a buffet!”
Cue Headless Chicken in Iceland…