How the Hell did I get here? I remember the start of the King’s address to the nation. And then, suddenly…WHAM! (No, not the  pop group, my nose hitting the ground!) Actually, it was more like a crack. 

I lay there, stunned, unable to move. Then my daughter, Kate, came into the lounge and, with shock and amazement at my new prostrate position, knelt down beside me.

“You have to turn over and sit up,” her voice echoed into my consciousness. Oblivious to the blood pouring from my nose, I just wanted to stay put but, reluctantly, I raised myself to a sitting position while she, with the aid of gallons of ice and reams of kitchen towel, tried to stem the seemingly unstoppable flow.

I remember that crime-scene look on the rug and, oh dear, my new beige trousers and top. I knew when I put them on that, maybe, someone as accident-prone as myself, should probably re-consider my Christmas Day outfit.

Did we ever discover which was the best recovery position for me? I’m not sure. All I know is that the after-shock symptoms started to set in after a while and my darkening surroundings and uneasy stomach compounded a heady mix of nausea and suffocation! Oh and then there was the discovery of my ring finger, bent at right angles to the knuckle.  If anyone has seen When Death Becomes Her and Meryl Streep’s character after falling down the stairs, that would give a clue as to its appearance. 

How had I done this? Right in the middle of the day with not a drop of alcohol consumed, turkey eaten or gift unwrapped. That bloody rug! It’ll have to go or haunt me forever!

It wasn’t the first time, of course, I or my family have managed to blight the festive season. There’s been Covid, flu, Salmonella poisoning; not to mention tumble-dryers catching fire, car accidents, all  wrapped memorably in this great big Santa Claus parcel of celebration and joy!

Take for example, one year when I decided to do a quick shop before attending a carol service. My local supermarket had decided, in its wisdom and Scrooge-like mentality, to install a temporary swing barrier system to deter other shoppers from parking there (customers could only exit using proof of purchase from the store). When I left the store, it was getting dark and, with no lighting or warning sign to indicate the presence of this obstacle, I simply forgot about it and drove right through. It must have seemed to the member of staff standing there, open-mouthed, like a high speed chase from the police. She didn’t attempt to stop me (probably too scared, I imagine) so I drove on with a slightly less uniform roof and a cracked windscreen, all of which I could conceal from my husband for a good number of days. But I got to the carol service on  time! Although, at one stage, I think I might have heard a police siren outside:))

To sum up, I’ve learnt to be wary of Christmas, loving the happiness wishes but sceptical that I would personally be blessed with such honour, at least until the start of the New Year. But, hey, I’m fine, still a little bruised (pride and face) but ever ready for the next bout in 2024 because I won’t let it beat me. Just remind me, please, to stay away from cars, supermarkets, domestic appliances, dodgy food, infected people, rugs, etcetera, and I’m sure I’m going to have a humdinger of a Christmas. Happy New Year to you all!