7:45 a.m. Woken by Mum. 'h.e.l.lo, darling. Just rang quickly because Una and Geothey were asking what you wanted for Christmas and I wondered about a Facial Sauna.' Woken by Mum. 'h.e.l.lo, darling. Just rang quickly because Una and Geothey were asking what you wanted for Christmas and I wondered about a Facial Sauna.'

How, after being totally disgraced and narrowly escaping several years in custody, can my mother just plop back into being exactly like she was before, flirting openly with policemen and torturing me.

'By the way, are you coming to . . . ' for a moment my heart leaped with the thought that she was going to say 'Turkey Curry Buffet' and bring up, in a manner of speaking, Mark Darcy, but no ' . . . the Vibrant TV party on Tuesday?' she continued brightly.

I shuddered with humiliation. I work work for Vibrant TV, for G.o.d's sake. for Vibrant TV, for G.o.d's sake.

'I haven't been invited,' I mumbled. There is nothing worse than having to admit to your mum that you are not very popular.

'Oh, darling, of course you've been invited. Everyone's Everyone's going.' going.'

'I haven't been.'

'Well, maybe you haven't worked there long enough. Anyway - '

'But, Mum,' I interrupted, 'you don't work there at all.'

'Well, that's different, darling. Anyway, Must run. Byeee!'

9 a.m. Brief moment of party oasis when an invitation arrived in the post but turned out to be party mirage: invitation to a sale of designer eyewear. Brief moment of party oasis when an invitation arrived in the post but turned out to be party mirage: invitation to a sale of designer eyewear.

11:30 a.m. Called Tom in paranoid desperation to see if he wanted to go out tonight. Called Tom in paranoid desperation to see if he wanted to go out tonight.

'Sorry,' he chirped, 'I'm taking Jerome to the PACT party at the Groucho Club.'

Oh G.o.d, I hate it when Tom is happy, confident and getting on well with Jerome, much preferring it when he is miserable, insecure and neurotic. As he himself never tires of saying, 'It's always so nice when things go badly for other people.'

'I'll see you tomorrow, anyway,' he gushed on, 'at Rebecca's.'

Tom has only ever met Rebecca twice, both times at my house, and I've known her for nine years. Decided to go shopping and stop obsessing.

2 p.m. b.u.mped into Rebecca in Graham and Greene buying a scarf for 169. (What is going on with scarves? One minute they were stocking filler-type items which cost 9.99 next minute they have to be fancy velvet and cost as much as a television. Next year it will probably happen to socks or pants and we will feel left out if we are not wearing 145 English Eccentrics knickers in textured black velvet.) b.u.mped into Rebecca in Graham and Greene buying a scarf for 169. (What is going on with scarves? One minute they were stocking filler-type items which cost 9.99 next minute they have to be fancy velvet and cost as much as a television. Next year it will probably happen to socks or pants and we will feel left out if we are not wearing 145 English Eccentrics knickers in textured black velvet.) 'Hi,' I said excitedly, thinking at last the party nightmare would be over and she too would say, 'See you on Sunday.'

'Oh, h.e.l.lo,' she said coldly, not meeting my eye. 'Can't stop. I'm in a real rush.'

As she left the shop they were playing 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire' and I stared hard at a 185 Phillipe Starck colander, blinking back tears. I hate Christmas. Everything is designed for families, romance, warmth, emotion and presents, and if you have no boyfriend, no money, your mother is going out with a missing Portuguese criminal and your friends don't want to be your friend anymore, it makes you want to emigrate to a vicious Muslim regime, where at least all all the women are treated like social outcasts. Anyway, I don't care. I am going to quietly read a book all weekend and listen to cla.s.sical music. Maybe will read the women are treated like social outcasts. Anyway, I don't care. I am going to quietly read a book all weekend and listen to cla.s.sical music. Maybe will read The Famished Roa The Famished Road.

8:30 p.m. Blind Date Blind Date was v.g. Just going for another bottle of wine. was v.g. Just going for another bottle of wine.

Monday 11 December

Returned from work to icy answerphone message.

'Bridget. This is Rebecca. I know you work in TV now. I know you have much more glamorous parties to go to every night, but I would have thought you could at least have the courtesy to reply to an invitation from a friend, even if you are too grand to deign to come to her party.'

Frantically called Rebecca but no reply or answerphone. Decided to go round and leave a note and b.u.mped into Dan on the stairs, the Australian guy from downstairs who I snogged in April.

'Hi. Merry Christmas,' he said leerily, standing too close. 'Did you get your mail?' I looked at him blankly. 'I've been putting it under your door so you don't have to get cold in your nightie in the mornings.'

I shot back upstairs, grabbed back the doormat and there, nestling underneath like a Christmas miracle, was a little pile of cards, letters and invitations all addressed to me. Me. Me. Me.

Thursday 14 December

9st 3, alcohol units 2 (bad, as did not drink any. units yesterday-must make up extra tomorrow to avoid heart attack), cigarettes 14 (bad? or maybe good? Yes. a sensible level of nicotine units is probably good for you as long as do not binge-smoke), calories 1500 (excellent), lottery tickets 4 (bad but would have been good of Richard Branson had won non-profit-making lottery bid), cards sent 0, presents purchased 0, 1471 calls 5 (excellent).

Parties, parties, parties! Plus Matt from the office just rang asking if I'm going to the Christmas lunch on Tuesday. He can't can't fancy me - I'm old enough to be his great-aunt-but then why did he ring me in the evening? And why did he ask me what I was wearing? Must not get over-excited and allow party casbah and phone call from feller-me-lad to go to self=s head. Should remember old saying 'once bitten twice shy' as regards dipping pen in office ink. Also must remember what happened last time snogged whippersnapper: ghastly 'Ooh, you're all squashy' humiliation with Gav. Hmmm. s.e.xually tantalizing Christmas lunch followed bizarrely by disco dancing in the afternoon (such being editor's idea of a good time) involves severe outfit choice complexity. Best ring Jude, I think. fancy me - I'm old enough to be his great-aunt-but then why did he ring me in the evening? And why did he ask me what I was wearing? Must not get over-excited and allow party casbah and phone call from feller-me-lad to go to self=s head. Should remember old saying 'once bitten twice shy' as regards dipping pen in office ink. Also must remember what happened last time snogged whippersnapper: ghastly 'Ooh, you're all squashy' humiliation with Gav. Hmmm. s.e.xually tantalizing Christmas lunch followed bizarrely by disco dancing in the afternoon (such being editor's idea of a good time) involves severe outfit choice complexity. Best ring Jude, I think.

Tuesday 19 December

9st 7 (but still nearly one week to lose 7 lbs. before Christmas), alcohol units 9 (poor), cigarettes 30, calories 4240, lottery tickets 1 (excellent), cards sent 0, cards received 11, but include 2 from paper boy, 1 from dustman, 1 from Peugeot garage and 1 from hotel spent night in for work four years ago. Am unpopular, or maybe everyone sending cards later this year.

9 a.m. Oh G.o.d, feel awful: horrible sick acidic hangover and today is office disco lunch. Cannot go on. Am going to burst with pressure of unperformed Christmas tasks, like revision for finals. Have failed to do cards or Christmas shopping apart from doomed panic-buy yesterday lunchtime as realized was going to see girls for last time before Christmas at Magda and Jeremy's last night. Oh G.o.d, feel awful: horrible sick acidic hangover and today is office disco lunch. Cannot go on. Am going to burst with pressure of unperformed Christmas tasks, like revision for finals. Have failed to do cards or Christmas shopping apart from doomed panic-buy yesterday lunchtime as realized was going to see girls for last time before Christmas at Magda and Jeremy's last night.

Dread the exchange of presents with fiends as, unlike with the family, there is no way of knowing who is and isn't going to give and whether gifts should be tokens of affection or proper presents, so all becomes like hideous exchange of sealed bids. Two years ago I bought Magda lovely Dinny Hall earrings, rendering her embarra.s.sed and miserable because she hadn't bought me anything. Last year, therefore, I didn't get her anything and she bought me an expensive bottle of Coco Chanel. This year I bought her a big bottle of Saffron Oil with Champagne and a distressed wire soapdish, and she went into a complete grump muttering obvious lies about not having done her Christmas shopping yet. Last year Sharon gave me bubble bath shaped like Santa, so last night I just gave her Body Shop Algae and Polyp Oil shower gel at which point she presented me with a handbag. I had wrapped up a spare bottle of posh olive oil as a generalized emergency gift which fell out of my coat and broke on Magda's Conran Shop rug.

Ugh. Would that Christmas could just b be, without presents. It is just so stupid, everyone exhausting themselves, miserably hemorrhaging money on pointless items n.o.body wants: no longer tokens of love but angst-ridden solutions to problems. (Hmm. Though must admit, pretty b.l.o.o.d.y pleased to have new handbag.) What is the point of entire nation rushing round for six weeks in a bad mood preparing for utterly pointless Taste-of-Others exam which entire nation then fails and gets stuck with hideous unwanted merchandise as fallout? If gifts and cards were completely eradicated, then Christmas as pagan-style twinkly festival to distract from lengthy winter gloom would be lovely. But if government, religious bodies, parents, tradition, etc., insist on Christmas Gift Tax to ruin everything why not make it that everyone must go out and spend 500 on themselves then distribute the items among their relatives and friends to wrap up and give to them instead of this psychic-failure torment?

9:45 a.m. Just had Mum on the phone. 'Darling, I've just rung to say I've decided I'm not doing presents this year. You and Jamie know there isn't a Santa now, and we're all far too busy. We can just appreciate each other's company.' Just had Mum on the phone. 'Darling, I've just rung to say I've decided I'm not doing presents this year. You and Jamie know there isn't a Santa now, and we're all far too busy. We can just appreciate each other's company.'

But we always get presents from Santa in sacks at the bottom of our beds. World seems bleak and gray. Won't seem like Christmas anymore.

Oh G.o.d, better go to work - but will not have anything to drink at disco-lunch, just be friendly and professional to Matt, stay till about 3:30 p.m., then leave and do my Christmas cards.

2 a.m. Course Course is OK - everyone drunks office Christmas parties. Is a good fun. Must gust sleep - doen maur about clothesoff. is OK - everyone drunks office Christmas parties. Is a good fun. Must gust sleep - doen maur about clothesoff.

Wed 20 December

5:30 a.m. Oh my G.o.d. Oh my G.o.d. Oh my G.o.d. Oh my G.o.d. Where am I? Where am I?

Thursday 21 December

9st 3 (actually, in funny sort of way there is no reason why should not actually lose weight over Christmas since am so full that - certainly any time after Christmas dinner it is perfectly acceptable to refuse all food on grounds of being too full. In fact it is probably the one time of year when it is OK not to eat).

For ten days now have been living in state of permanent hangover and foraging sub-existence without proper meals or hot food.

Christmas is like war. Going down to Oxford Street is hanging over me like going over the top. Would that the Red Cross or Germans would come and find me. Aaargh. It's 10 am. Have not done Christmas shopping. Have not sent Christmas cards. Got to go to work. Right, am never, never going to drink again for the rest of life. Aargh - field telephone.

Humph. It was Mum but might as well have been Goebbels trying to rush me into invading Poland.

'Darling, I was just ringing to check what time you're arriving on Friday night.'

Mum, with dazzling bravado, has planned schmaltzy family Christmas, with her and Dad pretending the whole of last year never happened 'for the sake of the children' (i.e., me and Jamie, who is thirty-seven).

'Mum, as I think think we've discussed, I'm not coming home on Friday, I'm coming home on Christmas Eve. Remember all those conversations we've had on the subject? That first one . . . back in August - ' we've discussed, I'm not coming home on Friday, I'm coming home on Christmas Eve. Remember all those conversations we've had on the subject? That first one . . . back in August - '

'Oh, don't be sill silly, darling. You can't sit in the flat on your own all weekend when it's Christmas. What are you going to eat?'

Grrr. I hate this. It's as if, just because you're single, you don't have a home or any friends or responsibilities and the only possible reason you might have.for not being at everyone else's beck and call for the entire Christmas period and happy to sleep bent at odd angles in sleeping bags on teenagers' bedroom floors, peel sprouts all day for fifty, and 'talk nicely' to perverts with the word 'Uncle' before their name while they stare freely at your b.r.e.a.s.t.s is complete selfishness.

My brother, on the other hand, can come and go as he likes with everyone's respect and blessing just because he happens to be able to stomach living with a vegan Tai Chi enthusiast. Frankly, I would rather set fire to my flat all on my own than sit in it with Becca.

Cannot believe my mother is not more grateful to Mark Darcy for sorting everything out for her. Instead of which he has become part of That Which Must Not Be Mentioned, i.e. the Great Time-Share Rip-Off, and she behaves as if he never existed. Cannot help but think he must have coughed up a bit to get everyone their money back. V. nice good person. Too good for me, evidently.

Oh G.o.d. Must put sheets on bed. Disgusting to sleep on uncomfortable b.u.t.ton-studded mattress. Where are sheets, though? Wish had some food.

Friday 22 December

Now it is nearly Christmas, find self feeling sentimental about Daniel. Cannot believe have not had Christmas card from him (though come to think of it have not managed to send any cards yet myself). Seems weird to have been so close during the year and now be completely out of touch. V. sad. Maybe Daniel is unexpectedly Orthodox Jew. Maybe Mark Darcy will ring tomorrow to wish me Happy Christmas.

Sat.u.r.day 23 December