'Tis the season to be grumpy; reach out and punch someone

Sometimes things go pear-shaped; life goes sideways. In fact, there are times in one's life when everything just turns to shit. And this two month period has been colossal crap of the first order.

I wrote on Halloween, and that was fine. Little kids came around, parents standing back to watch-so appropriate, given the state of the country at the moment-and they were adorable. I'm still so glad that I didn't ever want children; I had dogs instead. Much better! Dogs love you whether you look good or not; dogs are so loyal, which is more than anyone can say for people.

I then took a week off, went to the abbey outside London; they rent out rooms (five) for people who want to come on retreat, and there are no phones, no television, no noise. In fact, the only place you're allowed to talk is in the communal kitchen, and only during certain hours. So I had a week of peace and quiet. And was I ever bored! That experience taught me just how much stress and anxiety I've been under for a very long time.

I got back and discovered that everything truly had gone sideways. The landline phone decided to break, so I had to go out and buy a new one. This time I decided to get one that wasn't battery operated (okay, so the last one did last about ten years, so I couldn't complain), so I bought the only decent looking one I could find. It has buttons that are so big, you could press them with your fist. And the ringer is so loud, you could probably hear it in the next county. But hey, it works.

The kettle died. The boiler decided to spring a leak, giving me a soaking wet kitchen. It took the boiler people nearly a week to sort it out; this had happened on the Saturday, and nobody wanted to come out and have a look. By Wednesday, five guys showed up to fix the boiler. Five. And they stood outside and had a committee meeting, deciding that they didn't have the correct parts to fix the thing. So three went away to find the parts, and the other two stood in my kitchen, taking the boiler apart and making a mess. I offered them coffee-but I couldn't get to the wall sockets to heat the kettle. I was happy to find another place to heat the kettle, but they refused. They had brought a thermos, so that made things easier. They still went trooping through the kitchen, wet floor and all.

I thought-once they left-okay, that's three things that have gone wrong, so that should be the end of it. Oh, how wrong I was! The computer died. The broadband decided to break. My not-so-smartphone also decided to give up the ghost.

I did manage to cope with all of it, and everything that was broken was fixed or replaced; I ended up with the cleanest kitchen floor in North London. Or anywhere.

But-and there is always a "but"-I was minding my own business and taking out the trash very early on a Wednesday morning. I was up early, so I thought I would get that done. I didn't allow for the rain the night before, and the very soggy leaves and wet ground outside. No stick, no glasses-I could do this. And that is when the world turned to shit.

I slipped on the leaves, slammed into the edge of the building-hip first-and went down flat on my side, my knees, and my hands, which I used to keep my face from hitting the ground. Talk about pain.

I was really winded, and it took me awhile to get myself up and back inside, where I moved my legs and arms and decided that I probably hadn't broken anything, or I wouldn't be walking at all.

I waited a couple of days, with a huge lump on one side, bruises and big swellings everywhere, even though the first thing I reached for was the arnica. And then I went to A&E. I wasn't going to go to the emergency room at the Whittington, I wanted to come out of there with all my body parts intact- so I went back to the Royal Free, where I spent a tedious four and a half hours, two people mangled my veins in my arms trying to insert a cannula (idiots. They don't understand that people have very small veins. These guys couldn't tap a vein if it was the size of a six lane motorway).

Got the x-rays, and was congratulated on not breaking every bone in my body. The doc who came to see me told me that I have two hairlines on my pelvis, a huge amount of bruising and soft-tissue damage everywhere, and that I should rest and take painkillers.

So now you know where I've been for the past six weeks: doing only what was absolutely necessary and spending the rest of the time lying on my left side. Oh, joy.

Christmas has always been very difficult for me anyway. I did cook for myself for Thanksgiving, and sent a prayer of thanks to-well, whoever is out there-that I'm still alive, compos mentis, and in pretty good shape regardless. And the pain is finally beginning to subside, the bruising on my side is less than it was before, and everything seems to be working. So I'm grateful.

Christmas was when I finally decided that I was going to get a divorce. I didn't say anything to my husband because I didn't want to ruin his Christmas (what a wuss, eh?), so I ruined mine instead. So usually I solve the problem by hibernating. I read, watch old movies, go walking-and on Christmas morning I can usually walk without some imbecile heading straight for me, expecting me to jump out of the way.

Yes, Christmas is over for another year. The children are happy (I hope), the parents are dreading when the Christmas bills come out in January, and some of us (possibly many of us) just treat it as another day, and give thanks for finally doing what should have been done years before-and I personally give thanks for the lucky escape.

Things happen, and there are so many things over which we have no control whatsoever. But I hope that everyone reading this had a good time anyway, whatever you did-or didn't do. Eat lots, I decided that anything we eat or drink between Christmas and New Year's has no calories. Eat, drink, be happy - and find a person you really dislike, find the person who is odious and obnoxious-and get behind them and kick them down a flight of stairs.

Ho ho f+++in' ho.