Country Living with Francis Farragher

IT’S a rather stark admission to have to make but as for the Christmas season of jollity, presents, parties, feasts and decoration erections [oops, maybe not the right word] . . . well I am pretty useless.

My only pathetic ‘claim to fame’ over the festive season preparations is that I can manage to drive the Fiat Scudo van into Tuam and after a bit of friendly bargaining, secure the Christmas Tree, and help to put it in place by a front window. But then, it’s either too big or too small; too bushy or too scrawny; or has too short of a butt to fit snugly into the bucket! There’s always the clay mess to clean up . . . and yes I know, there are stands that can be bought, but damn it, I haven’t a clue where to get one.

Maybe it’s ‘a man thing’, but trying to pick presents for different family members is completely outside my reach – all I can do is to meekly suggest that I will pay my share of the costs involved, but as for the selection of items, the few brain resources, seem to fire blanks all the time.

Even the Christmas and work office parties which I always try to attend now come up the number one priority ambition of avoiding the next morning hangover. It’s one of the real signs of ageing, when the first thought that enters your head before going to party, is the thought of a sore head, a dodgy tummy and the arrival of the ‘black dog’ for a day or two afterwards.

Even 200 words or so into this column, an email flashes up in front of me reminding me that I haven’t completed my ‘wish list’ for ‘Secret Santa’ and I feel like replying: “Socks, socks and more socks – but no white ones”.

Anyway, back to the Christmas parties and my over-riding desire to avoid all the main hazards like mixing wine and lager; bringing up grudges with bosses that have lain dormant for months; accidentally knocking a pint over a female colleague who has just been complimented for her lovely outfit; and then leaving ‘my lift’ a good half-hour waiting past the agreed pick-up time.

Even if I’m ‘the good boy’ at the Christmas ‘do’ – after serving many long and hard years of an apprenticeship – I’m now tending to attract people who have the worries of the whole world on their shoulders. Possibly they have, but am I going to be resolve those personal issues at the edge of the bar counter . . . I think not.

Pictured: Father Jack and co., enjoying one of their typical ‘grouchy, happy Christmases’.