The season is nearly upon us, and I am dreading it. Not so much the shopping for presents (I love it!) and even less the preparing of the feast (as if!). No, what I am dreading is the writing of the Christmas cards. Or rather, I would be dreading it if I actually wrote any. You see, even after all these years in this country, I have not fallen foul of this most bizarre of British obsessions.
It is simply not a French ‘thing’ at all. Some people do send cartes de voeux for the New Year, but even that is nothing compared to the frenzy that seizes a whole population around the beginning of December. In our household, the ordering of the cards from various charities has been done, and the address book has been checked. All that remains now is spending hours writing the darn things.
My role usually involves buying the stamps and sometimes writing the addresses on the envelopes, but I will not do more. End of discussion. Oh, and I will push the boat out enough to take them to the post box, but that’s all. Well, almost. Apparently, it is also my job to find a neat way to display the hundreds (at least it seems that many) of cards we receive every year. But I will NOT be drawn into writing any.
So, if any of my dear friends happen to read this, now you know the truth! And if you happen to receive a card from me, you’ll know how lucky and treasured you are.