I am writing this in Wetherspoons at the South terminal Gatwick airport, where I am ingesting a rather unpleasant plate of gooey pasta and a glass of chardonnay, which is fine as it has alcohol in. We didn’t mean to stay here the night before our flights to Thailand, but when snow started to fall yesterday I panicked. We were planning to get a train from Bexhill at 6am but my mind was full of ‘what if’ scenarios. Deep freeze cracks the delicate Southern railway rails; the train driver can’t be arsed to get up because it’s too cold, so they ring in sick; I slip over on black ice, break my leg and end up spending the next twelve weeks in The Conquest Hospital in Hastings, instead of in Thailand. My nerve did not hold. I booked us into The Bloc Hotel in the South terminal, Gatwick. This turns out to be surprisingly comfy, with a runway view. It is within a few minutes walk of the shuttle bus to the North Terminal, where we are due to fly from tomorrow at 11:30. It is also only a very short walk from Gatwick airport station, where we arrived earlier today. The Bloc also gives us a twenty per cent discount in Wetherspoons, which justifies our visit.

Already if feels as though Christmas didn’t happen. I have spent the last two days frantically cleaning the house as a kind of displacement activity. I always get like this before flying. Once I arrive I know I will be fine, but it is the getting there that I struggle with. I have driven Tim, the cats and Andrea our lodger mad, although they have been patient with me (well not the cats, they have just avoided me). Christmas is always a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. This year felt even more so, fitting in visits to my Dad in his nursing home, spending time with my Mum and with both my kids. They were variously distracted with relationships and college work. We spent some good times together but they are forging their independent lives with their friends/ partners in a way that they should be at this stage.

I will record some notes for future christmases here, so that I can hold myself accountable next year. I didn’t do the ‘buy my own presents throughout the year’ thing this year, as going travelling was enough of a present. I would, however, recommend this practice to all resentful women. It has been trialled by a work colleague who loves it as much as I do. Rather than getting annoyed with our nearest and dearest as they are not able to read our minds and buy us exactly what we want, the idea is we buy ourselves one present a month and wrap it up. By Christmas you have forgotten what you bought yourself ( especially if you have a menopausal mind) and bingo! You get exactly what you want.

This year I didn’t bother with cooking much. I went to Marks and Spencer with Tim the day before Christmas Eve and bought everything there. Normally I do the Tesco trip on my own in my car after work in full martyr mode, as Tim does not drive. But glory of glories, it is off road, so of course I could not have coped without assistance. Normally I also start preparation ultra early, tempted into thinking that I am a domestic goddess like Nigella. I am not.

I always thought that Christmas shopping in M and S would be prohibitively expensive, but by the time I have bought all those ridiculous ingredients that they recommend in the Sunday supplement/ TV Christmas recipes, an M and S shop works out cheaper, as I proved this year. If I could have the nerve to leave it until the very last minute on Christmas Eve, when they reduce everything it might have been even better. Plus if you are a slack cook like me, it is nicer as well as obviously being a lot easier. Ready made bread and cranberry sauce, stuffing and even gravy are available. Why in hells name did I ever bother to make these items myself. Next year I might even buy ready made roast potatoes. Also nobody likes Christmas pudding, cake or (my) homemade mince pies much. Chocolate trifle/ yule log/ extremely chocalatey biscuits or just chocolate all go down a lot better in our house.

And turkey – why? This year I bought two delicious M and S chickens, all ready prepared for half the price that one turkey would have cost me. Plus lovely ready prepared pigs in blankets that I didn’t even have to take off their foil tray prior to popping them in the oven. I used one for the big day and one for leftovers as the whole point of Christmas is that I don’t have to cook for about five days afterwards and I didn’t want to lose that benefit.

Finally – the Christmas tree. Will I never learn? Every year I send Tim out to buy a real tree and every year I regret it. Number one I am allergic to Christmas trees, so I spend the whole Christmas season sneezing and on antihistamines. Number two no real Christmas trees does not shred however many chemicals they treat the evil witch pines with. This year’s was the worst ever, probably because Tim bought it at the last minute at a knock down price. The minute we got the bugger through the door it started to discharge its load. I only had to touch it for a cloud of needles to waft onto the carpet. I didn’t risk using the posh hoover on it, which Tim had only just mended. I thought that the Henry would cope. It manages most things. But this tree choked even Henry. Its pipes became infested with needles. I had to shake them outside the front of the house but the bitter December wind immediately blew them back in the front door again. I took the bastard down on Boxing Day and good riddance. NEVER AGAIN will I buy a real Christmas tree. Next year I will treat myself to a small artificial one that fit on the coffee table.

But all that now feels like a different life now. Tomorrow we fly with Air China to Bangkok, via Beijing where we have an eight our layover. I am hoping that this will not be too unpleasant. I will write an update blog when I get a chance for those of you who may be curious.,,,