I have to confess that I am finding it much easier to cope with Christmas Day as the years progress. This year promised to be a doddle, because I didn't have any commitments; I had a tiny turkey and a 6lb ham on order and two eager kitchen helpers all primed and ready to wrap sausages and make stuffing. It all seemed to be going well, and by Christmas Eve I'd cooked and glazed my ham, made the stuffing and a caramelised orange trifle, wrapped the presents, and had dosed a flu-ridden Rosie with enough Calpol to see her safely through the night. Christmas morning started rather earlier than I had intended, with Rosie coming in to see me, crying tears of pain due to the onset of sinusitis. She struggled through the unwrapping of presents and then I was faced with the difficult job of getting the turkey ready whilst simultaneously trying to apply pressure to my poorly child's congested nasal passages. I managed to get the bird in the oven and Rosie off to sleep, but then Alice decided further complicate my day by taking a slice off the tip of her nose with a remote control helicopter. I became slight dispirited at that stage, and found it hard to know who was in more pain, Rosie, Alice or the turkey.

Still, I struggled gamely on, and at 1.30pm we all sat down to eat the meal that my girls had been anticipating for a whole year. Alice worked her way through a gargantuan plate-full, Rosie managed a couple of mouthfuls, and I was left looking at a mountain of white breast meat and wondering what the hell I would do with it all. I think Peter André has the same problem, but then I don't suppose he hides Jordan away in the fridge and tries to pretend she's not there.

I managed to have a snooze with Rosie later in the day, and then Beth called round with a consultant cardiologist (her lovely husband, Chris) to check on Rosie. To me that visit sums up why I have no reason to be sad at Christmas. I have people around me who love me and care for me. I don't need a sack-full of presents or a house-full of relatives to make Christmas a joyous time, all I need is a warm fire, cuddles from my girls and the knowledge that despite not having a husband, I do have people who love me, and who are constant, unchanging and true.

I don't buy anything for Beth at Christmas, and she doesn't buy anything for me - we have dispensed with all that because we both have pretty much everything we need, and we know that it's one less job for both of us at an already hectic time. But when Beth hears that one of my girls is ill, she's the first one to come to my aid. She knows how hard it is for me, she knew that I would be wiped out after cooking Christmas lunch, and even though she was on her way to Heathrow, she called round with a nice doctor and bottle of Calpol, because that's what best friends do.

Rosie is much improved, and the turkey is all gone, which is something that I'm mightily relieved about. I sat with Alice yesterday afternoon and we watched 'The Great Escape', whilst Rosie dozed by the fire. Alice was totally engrossed by the film, and cried at exactly the same point that I did when I first watched it as a girl (Donald Pleasence stumbles from the crashed plane, and gets shot by the beastly Germans).

I'm confident that I'm giving my girls the best Christmas present there is - namely a happy home-life; and that I'm teaching them about al the things that were important to their father. I think Charlie would have liked nothing better than to have watched a classic war film with his baby girl on a cold, Christmassy afternoon, but in his absence I'm happy to take on the role of history teacher, fire maker and film critic. It has been a wonderful Christmas, despite illness and injury and I'm actually looking forward to next year. Funny how such a trying event has become just another hurdle that has fallen away over time; I hope all those people who are finding it hell will take heart from my experiences and know that it really does get easier .

It'll soon be 2005, and I'm choosing to celebrate the end of 2004 by not celebrating it. But I have made a resolution to become proactive next year, regarding meeting a man, and to this end have taken the rather drastic step of joining a dating agency. 'Ha!' I hear you all cry, 'she really must be desperate', but the agency I have chosen is moderately priced, discreet, and doesn't post your picture up in cyberspace along with a lot of oddballs and desperados. I didn't find the interview too taxing, but on receiving the competed profile I find that I love opera and ballet and sound about as exciting as a Saga coach trip to Bulgaria.

The questions were all too restrictive for my liking. They asked things like,
'Do you like a man who is:
1. Not very ambitious
2. Ambitious
3. Richard Branson
And, 'What is your idea of an ideal date?' Well, durrrr, a single man with a pulse..

But you can't say that to a nice lady on the telephone, so you have to trot out the tired old cliché of 'A long walk in the country, followed by an afternoon drink in a lovely pub with a roaring log fire, and afterwards a dinner à deux.'

I didn't want polite, bland questions, what I really wanted them to ask were honest questions like:
'Are you looking for a man who is:
1. Shallow and manipulative
2. Desperate and needy
3. Desperately nerdy
4. Desperately stalking Susan
5. All of the above
or,
'Are you looking for a man who is:
1. Too old and feeble to unwrap a Werther's Original, but unlikely to trouble you for sexual favours when you are happily reading 'Cross Stitch magazine'.
2. Hardly ever excited.
3. Sometimes mildly aroused by Koi carp and steam locomotives - but then who isn't...
4. Always Ready.
5. A human heated towel rail.
6. Peter Stringfellow

Within the narrow confines for the questions there just isn't enough space between the lines to say whom you really are and what you want, so you have to put your faith in the people who are running the agency and hope that from a dozen or so limiting questions they can accurately judge your requirements.

No mean feat in my case.

As the new year beckons I'm eagerly anticipating a series of dates with totally unsuitable men, and you, dear reader, can only pity them and hope that I'm either too drunk or too bored to say what I really think. I promise to keep you informed of all developments and I wish you all a peaceful, healthy and happy New Year.


© Kate Boydell 2004. All rights reserved. e-mail: [email protected]. Close window.