Christmas is not a competition

What world do these people live in? Not mine. And, I guess, not yours either.

My hall isn't decked with home made wreaths of holly and pine cones collected and painted for the purpose. My freezer is not full of mince pies made with my own home made mincemeat. I have not made individual crackers for each member of the family, painted my own silk cards, embroidered a super Santa stocking, or hung the trees with decorations hand-crafted at my kitchen table.

Years ago when the boys were little, we used to make sweets for the grannies and the boys would paint little labels for the jars. Both grannies kept the jars and labels for years, so that was worth doing.

But as for the rest... we don't have interesting little table decorations either - no room, because all the space is taken by food. So that's one less thing to think about.

Nor have I succumbed to the daftest suggestion yet in one of the weekend papers, which was how to make your own wrapping paper. It involved lots of tissue and layers and cutting out. And time. No doubt it would be an absolute exquisite labour of love if you were just giving one special person one special present.

But in our house?

No one even notices the wrapping paper - they're just too busy ripping it off to get to the goodies underneath.

Our tree is not exquisitely designed and co-ordinated on this year's theme, whatever that may be. True, Smaller Son insisted on buying some new tinsel for it this year, but otherwise it's the usual random assortment of baubles. The fairy, God bless her, came from Northallerton Woollies 25 years ago and is still going strong, though she looks a bit drunk and wonky. Just like the rest of us really.

And because the big stores have been trying to make me think of Christmas and spend, spend, spend, since the end of the summer holidays, I've gone into a sort of bloody-minded under-drive. Do I really need a five foot plastic reindeer with flashing antlers? I think not.

Christmas will come whether you're ready or not. The world will not end if you don't get everything right. This is the real world, not an advert, not a competition

Our Christmas will never feature in glossy magazines. It will be the usual ramshackle mixture of generosity and tradition and idiosyncrasy. But it will be ours and, I hope, a happy one.

I hope yours is too - and that you have time to relax and enjoy it.

Happy Christmas.

SO now we might have to carry on working until we're 70. A generation ago, most people started working at 15 and worked till they were 65, giving them a 50-year working life.

Now more people stay on at school till 18. And more than ever go on to university. With a gap year this could mean they're easily 22 before they eventually start their proper jobs.

So even if they go on until they're 70, they're still two years better off - and probably a lot fitter and healthier - than their parents and grandparents.

If 50 is the new adolescence, then 70 is barely grown up.

And anyway they'll need that long to pay off their student loans and the mortgage.

FOURTEEN-year-old Rachel Lloyd was besotted with a 24-year-old barman she met on holiday in Turkey.

Instead of whisking the child home and distracting her to get over her crush, her grandmother fanned the flames of young passion. She took Rachel back to Turkey, including paying for this last visit, and now Rachel claims she's pregnant.

There are a lot of people who aren't suitable to be parents. Looks like some aren't suitable to grandparents either.

WE no longer, quite rightly, let teachers hit children. But now a much respected, capable teacher has been sacked - for calling a child a "wimp" - which , actually, by the standards of what we were called in our school days - "mathematical moron" was one of the nicer names - is probably a compliment.

But if teachers can't hit children, and can't call them names, and parents have instilled no discipline, then teachers haven't many options left.

OK, if you were faced with 30 rioting ten-year-olds, or even 20 stroppy five-year-olds, how do think you'd cope?

WE'VE read too many school stories or watched too many gangster movies. So much so that we are conditioned against sneaking, shopping or grassing on anyone, whatever they've done.

In a bid to cut the number of accidents this Christmas, Crimestoppers is offering a reward of £500 to people who inform on drink-drivers - much to the outrage of many people.

OK, none of us likes a snooper. But, if you saw someone heading off with a loaded gun into the streets, you'd ring the police then, wouldn't you?

Well, a car is a lethal weapon. Especially when there's a drunk behind the wheel.

Get them stopped, now.

DOZY rail passengers in some parts of the country are to get badges which say "Wake me up at...", so they don't go snoring past their stop.

If only they'd had them up here some years ago when husband was travelling home to Darlington. The first thing I knew there was anything wrong was when I had a phone call at midnight from British Rail in Leeds. "We have your husband's briefcase," they said.

But did they have my husband? NO. Having slept happily through Darlington, he was bleary-eyed and baffled in Newcastle.

Husband, briefcase and I were eventually reunited. But how much easier if he'd worn a little badge and someone had given him a helpful elbow in the ribs.

OK, we've got used to the hot cross buns next to the mince pies, but I was still a bit surprised in Safeway in Darlington recently at a notice which said: "Pass on the Good News of Easter with a greetings card from Acorn Bookshop."

Easter? When I've only just done my Christmas cards? Have I missed something?

Must be a new slogan - Post Early for Easter.

Published: 18/12/2002