Three days remaining until the Christmas festivities. Or 62 hours, 26 minutes and 9 seconds at the time of writing, if you count Christmas day as starting at 6.00am on the 25th.

As the time ticks away the frenzy gets that little bit more intense because, as per usual, we are not ready.

You would think with 364 days notice we could get our act together in time, but no, not us. I know we’ll get get there in the end, because we always do. In one last mad, chaotic, dash we will shop and cook and clean and wrap, all will be delegated duties, quick throw that stuff in the linen cupboard to get it off the floor, for goodness sake don’t MOVE the lounge then we’ll have to deal with the accumulated mess under it, please somebody turn off the oven when the timer goes off.

It’s our own special version of family bonding. In other families they enjoy holidays together,  share hobbies, laugh over similar interests, not us, our bonding takes place in a mad flurry of dysfunctional teamwork as we try to meet self-induced deadlines of visitors arriving at the door.

I claim it is teaching the children to function well under pressure, others may disagree.

Mr Shambles and I will have our annual arguments over me buying too much stuff for the kids and him forgetting to get the ice for the drinks.

I will make my usual claim that next year I’m lay-bying all the gifts in June – and I don’t care if they are out of fashion, out of date or too darn small by the time Christmas rolls around.

Eventually we will sit down at the table laden with prawns and pavlova,  finally a chance to relax. At which point someone will emit an thunderous burp and start a completely disgusting “who can burp the loudest” competition which will annoy me no end.

How are you going? Got it all under control?