Robyn’s Nest

I’ve had a bit of a festive-themed day today - two meetings at work about Christmas cards and a text from the chairman of the volleyball club asking if, as social secretary, I can start thinking about venues for the Christmas bash.

Cripes folks, it’s only July and it seems so strange to be mentioning the C word! Anyway, one of the Christmas card meetings was like something out of a comedy sketch - myself and two colleagues sat around a table with a guy from one of the design agencies we pitching to work on the company Christmas card - I won’t bore you with the exact details of the project.

Anyway, this guy arrived a tad flustered as he’d got a bit lost, taken a phone call in the car, and just lost his focus. On dropping his stuff on the floor and knocking the conference phone on so we nearly jumped out of our seats, he exclaimed: “It’s going to be one of those days isn’t it?” It certainly was.

It wasn’t that the Christmas card ideas were bad, far from it, but this guy was clearly flustered and desperately trying to stay cool. And failing. He whipped out a mock-up of a card from his briefcase and…. wait for it… in doing so managed to whack me across the face with it, my nose mainly.

Me and my colleagues (me gripping my nose) just burst into fits of laughter and this guy melted in a pool of embarrassment. I really felt for him. He apologised a thousand times and we made a few jokes about Christmas cards being used as weapons.

It was just so funny, I can’t tell you. It’s probably a sign that we we talking about Christmas far too early in the year. I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the meeting and this guy will forever be know as the chap who whacked his Christmas card idea around my face. It’s one way to make an impact I guess.

The atmosphere in work is great today ‘cos everyone knows that when they clock off at 3pm, Christmas begins.

This is a new feeling for me, having had to work over the Christmas period every year since leaving college. And, quite frankly, it sucked. There really is no joy in returning to work the day after Boxing Day knowing that friends and family are still tucked up in bed and will spend the day scoffing chocs, watching nice films and catching up with mates and rellies.

Returning to the office - to put together a newspaper that no one will read - kinda kills the Christmas spirit for me. But this year is different. I have a new job with a company that celebrates Christmas by giving staff time off. And boy am I gonna make the most of it. This is the most festive I’ve felt in ages!

The weekend will be spent catching up with family - divorced parents means two lots of visits - and the obligatory visit to see nan (who is slowly losing her marbles and thinks I’ve been seconded to Milton Keynes on a special assignment. And she’ll no doubt ask me 20 times: “So dear, have you found yourself a young man yet?”)

Sunday will be my day, spent pottering at home, playing Christmas tunes, catching up with chores and cooking up a festive feast for Jen and Lisa who will accompany me to Morocco on Christmas Eve. Whoo hoo! We’ll tuck into tasty fodder, open gifts, watch Santa Claus the Movie and check we’ve packed our passports.

Yes, that’s right folks, I’m making the most of the Christmas break by jetting off to sunnier shores and kicking back for some proper r&r. What better way to end the year?

Merry Christmas to you all, ho ho ho!

If I had cocktail sticks to hand I’d probably use them to prop my eyes open. Having the works Christmas do on a school night is a bad idea.

The combination of bowling (attempting to look fashionable in the shoes and keep nails intact) a curry, dancing and a lot of alocohol and laughter are the ingredients for a great night out - and it was. But now we’re at work and struggling to concentrate.

The headache can be sorted by popping a few pills and rehydrating with never ending cups of water and the stomach can be settled with a huge coffee and breakfast sarnie from the cafeteria. But the tiredness can only be cured by sleep. And it’s not professional to catch some zzzzs at work.

Today is the sort of day I wish I was curled up at home in front of the fire, and watching one of those Christmassy films on Channel 5 with a mug of hot choc. Bliss. Yes, I knwo I sound like a granny but it’s the hangover talking.

The champagne and nibbles being offered at work at lunchtime just don’t appeal, I’m seriously flagging, and I will be very grateful for my bed this evening - and the fact the Christmas break will begin at 3pm tomorrow.

So, some lessons have been learned. Firstly, that works festive bashes should take place on Friday or Saturday nights; secondly, that alcohol can be consumed in moderation and not like it’s going out of fashion; thirdly, that bowling shoes really are as bad as I thought they were; and fourthly, that my colleagues can bust some pretty cool grooves on the dancefloor.

Why is it that colds only strike when you least want them to? They seem to know about birthdays, holidays and Christmas and leave it until the last minute to wriggle their way into your immune system and make you feel grotty.

I am two days away from a birthday, 12 days away from a holiday and 13 days away from Christmas, so it couldn’t be worse timing that my nose has started running, is bright red and I sneeze at regular intervals. Generally, I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself.

I’m off work tomorrow and maybe I did want to spend the day in bed- although not with a massive supply of tissues, a hot water bottle and a Lemsip. More likely with a latte, good book and a hunky man (any volunteers? Brad? George?).

Well, I won’t be spending the day in my pit of slumber (well, maybe Brad could persuade me should he come knocking on my door) ‘cos I’ll be shopping. Yes, I have done the majority of my Chrimbo shopping already - not to be efficient - but so I can indulge in a day of splashing the cash on myself.

This cold will not beat me. And what better cure than a pair of new knee-high boots, a few spangly tops, and a vat of mulled wine on my return. In fact, I’m feeling better already.

I watched Elf on TV last night and it’s got me feeling rather festive. So, in my lunch hour today I invested in a 6ft tree (I already have a little one at home but this year I want to go large) and I can’t wait to finish work and start decorating. Yes, I really am that sad.

Those who know me well will think I’ve been very restrained this yuletide. My tree often goes up in November but this year I have waited. And I can wait no longer. I seem to have a thing for flashing lights and bits of sparkle - bring on the mulled wine.

Anyway, if you haven’t seen the film Elf, it’s brilliant. It’s not only funny, festive and for families, it has confirmed something regarding my taste in men: no matter how desperate I get (and I’m not desperate yet, I have to point out) I could never fancy a guy in yellow tights!

It’s that time of year - log fires, cheesy songs and baubles everywhere you look. No, it’s not an evening at Cliff Richard’s house. I am, of course, referring to Christmas. Ho ho bleeping ho.

With every yuletide comes the inevitible Christmas do and Secret Santa. This year the department I work for is big enough for the present givers to remain secret (I hope), but last year it was a different story.

There were seven of us in the department and, with me being the head of it, no one really wanted the task of buying something for “the boss”, least of all the male reporters, all in their mid-20s. So, it was sod’s law when the 24-year-old sports reporter picked my name out of the hat. And I was SO embarrased when I pulled back the wrapping paper of a really nice set of smellies (that mean’s girly bath stuff in case you don’t tak the lingo).

It was a nice gift and he’d thought about it. Bless. He was equally embarrased when he got a near-naked women calendar from the hot female photographer and the trainee of the team a little peeved to receive a dictionary off the chief reporter.

It was dead easy to work out who was buying for who (and we were all journos who, let’s face it, find it impossible to keep a secret) and some presents can reveal a bit more than your taste in wrapping paper - if you fancy them, if you hate them, if you think they’re pants at their job etc. And some people suffer a dramatic loss of sense of humour when they open up their penis-shaped stress ball.

So, this year (hopefully) it will be a secret. I’m pretty new to my place of work and don’t want to start offending people yet. Or do I? (Insert evil laugh here).

There’s also the budget to think about too. Five squid doesn’t go a long way and I don’t want to hand over my hard-earned dollars for a gift which will end up lining the office secretary’s bin.

Ah, so many things to think about, so little time. It’s mid November already and they’ve only had advent calendars in the shops for four months. Can’t think why I’ve not got round to buying one yet. Ah yes, it’s ‘cos I have a life.

Merry Christmas!!!

My new job affords me the luxury of taking Christmas off - something which hasn’t happened since I started working. There’s nowt worse than staying sober while the family party around you, knowing you have a two-hour drive back to a freezing cold office the next morning. It kind of kills the festive spirit for me.

So, this year I’ve decided to boycott Christmas. Instead of stuffing myself with turkey and choccies, arguing over the TV remote control with my brother (yes, we are in our late 20s!)and wearing a stupid party hat, I’m gonna lie on a sunbed and soak up some rays.

Yes, I’m going on my winter jollies. Destination yet unknown (it’s a wee bit pricey and we’ve left it late to book so options are limited) but that’s what I’m doing.

I always liked to be at home at Christmas and never thought I’d be the type to dash off to sunnier climes. But I moved away from home years ago so “to go home” for Chrimbo is to actually stay in my mum’s spare room and make sure my ancient nan can make it to the toilet before she pees all over the furniture. We actually found her soiled undies among the prezzies under the tree last Christmas. I joke not. More like smelly Christmas than merry Christmas!

I may avoid December 25 this year but it doesn’t mean my Christmas spirit has disappeared - I’ll be using it up in the run up to the big day by attending as many parties, mince pie tasters and mulled wine evenings as possible. Ho ho ho!