Home Alone

Lucy’s column for December 16.
Holilo…1
How many holidays does a woman want in a year?
I knew she was getting a bit twitchy a couple of weeks ago. It all started with murmurings about the credit crunch – not that Ower Luce knows what she’s talking about – and how much cheaper it was to do the big Christmas shop in foreign markets. Not just more economical, she reckoned, but well, you know, gifts with a difference, some imagination. Although to my mind a copy Chanel belt, for the niece-in-law-once-removed, or Louis Vuitton wallet from a Mallorcan market (never mind the quality – just cop the price) for a great-nephew we never see from one year’s end to the next, is hardly worth the cost of the economy-price air fare.
That’s her trouble, you see. My missus buys for all and sundry. And then some.
She gets in a heck of a state at this time of the year. Although she has collected stuff throughout the past ten months, by way of sales, three-for-two-, BOGOFS, and must-haves, by the time Chrissy prezzie time arrives, she’s either forgotten for whom she has bought what, or lost a bag full of "bargains" in that wilderness known to normal folk as a wardrobe. It’s a stressful time for yours truly. So I’ve just waved her a cheery farewell on EasyJet – and came back from East Midlands International shouting "Yippee. I’m free."
But honestly, I wish it was just that simple. Most times when she disappears into the wide blue-ish yonder on a get-out-of-my-space break, my social life perks up. Isn’t it odd how people feel sorry for a man alone? Mates ring up and suggest nipping out for a quickie at the local. Their wives cotton on, and insist I return to their house for a bite to eat. Sisters-in-law who barely give you the time of day for the rest of the year, suddenly take pity on home-alone John and invite you not just for sustenance, but for the entire weekend.
The trouble is, most of these charitable folk have suddenly decided to "do a Lucy". And they, too, have gone on a sun-run to far-flung outposts courtesy of booze-cruises, the Costas, Guernsey, Malta even, leaving me high and dry, and a diet of takeaways, and, in the words of she-who-must-be-obeyed, a poke about in the freezer.
Not only that, Lucy made, as usual, great play of her panic over the dreaded Christmas card list. Oh, she’d bought them – together with the ones she bought in the 2008 January sales, but couldn’t locate at the estimated time of departure. So, would I attempt the honours this year, and at least give her a head start for when she returns from her exhausting sojourn by at least putting pen to card, so that she has but a few stragglers to attend to? Oh, and by the way, it appears you have to write down a bit of a personal missive, just to let friends and acquaintances know that they’re a bit special.
Which is a timely moment to those recipients who received a formal : "Yours sincerely, Lucy and John" that this was nothing personal. Merely a lazy lapse on my part.
Because not only was I deprived of free food and drink, plus the usual home comforts of cosy nights with her by my side but also I was left with instructions to record Strictly Come Dancing, X Factor, I’m A Celebrity .. and all the other dross that dippy women indulge themselves in.
But I am making a stand. I will NOT record any of the above appalling shows. Because a couple of days before she left we had a blockage in the upstairs loo. So for the entire week of her absence I’m having my rubber-gloved hand down the bog. There’s only so much a pre-Christmas martyr can do….
end