LESS than 10 days to go and I reckon I must be in the running for most disorganised person of the year when it comes to festive preparations.

Which is nice 'cos I might swing the title for grumpiest too this week.

You see, I haven't bought one single present, a tree, Christmas card, frozen vol-au-vent cases -- nothing.

It's about as seasonal in my house as Majorca.

It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have a packed programme of festive events on the snow-covered horizon -- or if I wasn't on the entertaining rota come Christmas Day at the very least.

Then, personally, I don't think I'd bother with any of it, let alone a stupid tree.

I haven't got any room for one anyway.

It's going to be a toss up between granny and the coffee table in the living room at the same time as it is.

And they're nothing but trouble when you think about it. Trees that is. Though grannies have their moments too, I agree. But, no, they're all glittering lights reflecting off the TV screen, dropped needles on the bottom of your feet and that's before you chuck it out in January to find it's rotted through the carpet where it stood twinkling so sweetly for two weeks.

I suppose I could have a foot-high fibre optic number quietly glowing in the corner but I'm a bit of an all or nothing girl myself, I must admit. It's either a seven-foot Scottish pine with a bauble on every branch or I'd rather not bother, thank you very much. Faced with the choice, I really would rather not bother.

I've nowhere to put it. I've moved all my furniture around already this week looking for the perfect spot but after trying three different schemes with the three piece suite, I gave up, put it all back in the same place and fell asleep for three hours from sheer exhaustion.

I woke feeling completely cheesed off with the whole affair.

If I'm honest I'm sick of it already. Are you?

I mean, I've been to so many Christmas do's I could pass for a prawn cocktail and I'm fed up with feeling tired and hung-over and generally that I've loads to do but little time or inclindation, if you know what I mean.

And what's it all about anyway?

I'm not religious. In fact, nobody I know is. So why do we spend four months whipping ourselves up into some frenetic, frenzied festive mess, rushing around buying gifts for people we see once a year and terrorising ourselves for months trying to get everything perfect for just one day?

I mean, if someone said to you we were going to start this tradition now you would surely laugh in their face.

I would.

I'd go: "Stick a prickly old tree in my living room? Buy everyone I know a present and send them a hastily written card? Have my family round for lunch and run myself ragged trying to make perfect cauliflower cheese? I don't think so love. You can count me out of that."

If only, eh?