Tis the Season to be Snotty... Tra La La La La La La

The big day had arrived. All my super efficient organising had led to this moment. 1 December - the day when being super excited about christmas becomes legal. And super excited I had been - pre-writing all my Christmas cards, sorting them into alphabetical order, stroking all my new christmas decorations stashed away in the airing cupboard. But instead of smugly posting my cards and hanging my beautiful fuzzy felt decorations on the tree, I was in bed with a tampon stuck up each nostril.

By 2 December and inspired by my beloved Coca Cola Holidays are Coming advert, I heaved my snot ravaged body out of its pit, determined to be filled with Christmas cheer, god damn it. Accountant was sent into the loft to retrieve the tree whilst Chickie and I stood at the bottom of the ladder, our watery eyes, filled with excitement. After nearly being crushed to death by the Christmas Tree falling from the hatch, we stepped back and remained excited from there.

Whilst Chickie emptied all the boxes onto the living room floor, giggling with delight, I began the hideous job of untangling the lights. Half an hour later, they were plugged in and, naturally, didn't work. Half an hour of bulb testing and we still didn't know why they didn't work. The spares were brought into play and Chickie stood and stared, appreciating for the first time, a twinkly, winkly Chwistmas Twee. More giggling and a lot of arm flapping showed he likey.

Accountant discovered another set of hanging star lights and enquired as to what I was going to do with them. Reminded of the year before when I'd spent every day in December licking and relicking the suckers, suckering and resuckering to them to the window, I advised him to put them back in the box and tape down the lid. Programmed to do the exact opposite of whatever I advise him, Accountant says, "I'll do it then" in a "I'll show you!" kind of way.

I continued hanging my gorgeous little baubles to a Festive soundtrack of coughs, splutters, hoiking and throat tickling. Muttered expletives added to the whole family christmas atmosphere as Accountant learnt what happens when you ignore your wife. Chickie began to sob as helping daddy wasn't that much fun and a falling star had just come unstuck and bopped him on the head. Daddy swore some more. Chickie cried some more.

More coughing. Some nose blowing. A decision that the lights would be better placed on the back window where Chickie couldn't eat them and then, more swearing.

To give Accountant his dues, he spent a further twenty minutes licking those little suckers, pressing them on the window pane and then watching them ping off, before he threw the whole lot on the floor and stomped into the lounge to watch the football.

Once mummy had sorted the twinkly lights with the patience of someone highly delighted at just being so right, so often, Chickie and I stood back and admired all the twinkling. Chickie did the little penguin dance he does whenever he gets too excited to hold it all in.

Yes, Christmas was off to a great start at Chez Chickie.