... and all through the house
were a pile of wet trainers
and the cat's half-chewed mouse.
Five sleeps until Christmas and the presents are carefully wrapped awaiting eager opening on Christmas morning when I'll waft through the house in my silky, chiffon, Christmas, Nicole Fahri outfit ( size 8 ) with a glass of Bolly spiced with freshly squeezed clementine juice in my manicured hand, as my husband bastes the organic goose and my teenagers help to wash up the lobster ravioli dishes from last night's impossibly hip little spontaneous gathering of beautiful people .
Five sleeps until Christmas and the smell of last night's oven chips is still clinging to the untouched pile of laundry in the kitchen whilst I , on my hand and knees , attempt to scrub the cat's pee out of the hallway carpet with my husband's toothbrush. The teenagers are annihilating another gang of blood-thirsty zombies on the X Box and I'm still in my grubby fleece PJs , the ones with a hole in the arse.
I'll let you choose which one is true. I have though just read the first few pages of January's Ideal Flipping Perfect Home magazine though, as I sluttishly ate the last of the Quality Street toffee pennies in bed for breakfast this morning. Their editor tells me that in her little world "All is calm , all is bright " and that she's about to traipse out into the forest at 6.30 am for a brisk and frosty dawn walk , treading on a pristine sheet of fresh snow. I'm wondering if her address reads No 1. LaLa Avenue.
OK , now she's crunching along under bare trees, where high above her, clusters of berried mistletoe fill the branches. Later on , page 25 in fact, she's closing her front door , shutting out the noise and finding that instantly all is calm. La La Avenue must be located in a parallel universe far, far from humanity.
I'm wondering if there's a handy hints column on the back page with homely tips on how to remove the smell of cat's pee from seagrass carpet. Now that would be useful.