How can it already be that time again? It seems like we were only just packing the glittery goodies and tinsel away in the Harry Potter cupboard under the stairs, all orderly and proper-like; peeling the plasticy-rubber Seasons Greetings lettering off the downstairs windows and remembering at the last minute to take down the tatty garland that, when it was suggested we replace it this year, caused an all-out rebellion.

“How dare you,” they chuntered, “it’s an heirloom!”

But then I check out the chaos and clutter that blocks my way to the hall decking implements and it’s obvious a year has elapsed. Embarrassingly, when I cleaned the downstairs windows yesterday in readiness for our yuletide lettering, I found myself having to lean a little heavier on the cloth to remove the outline of last years efforts – a year of I’ll sort out those windows next week.

Along with my bemoaning the days flashing by with alarming speed to anyone standing still long enough to hear it, my short term memory is also acting annoyingly cliched. My latest effort takes a bit of beating:

I had quite the shopping list for this weeks town day. One of Christchurch’s biggest malls is only a ten minute walk down the road from the Union Homestead Urban Outpost and off I set, my little new-to-me shopping trundler that has the whole family grinning but that is, in my opinion, redeemed from crazy-old-lady status by it’s very cool Bohemian Green print, bouncing behind me. I’m not a great one for malls – they’re loud and the lighting is weird and bouncy – but after close to two hours I had either ticked off or reconsidered the need for my entire list and was feeling mighty fine. Right, off to the checkout…which is when I found I had ventured out without my wallet. Long story short, I managed to do a deal with my bank by basically playing the ditzy out-of-town older person card (I mean, it was hot and my feet were sore and sometimes I’m not above whining in public to save my soul and my soles) but where was the wallet? I pondered this as I trundled my haul back home; incidentally the return journey took closer to half an hour. Right, a quick look in the obvious places: nope. A double check: still no. Okay, the crazy places: did I make it into the bed? Leave it on the loo windowsill? Bundle it up with the dirty laundry? No; no; no. Time for a serious internal talking to. I knew I had it the previous night when The Bean Counter and I had gone for wander to pick up a loaf of bread so it had made the trip from the country with me; I’d had to shuffle it to my other hand in order to unlock the door. And then The Bean Counter went to put the loaf in the pantry and I reminded him that The Engineer likes to divide the loaves, freezing half because she doesn’t eat them fast enough. Then he did that thing that drives me mad and asked How? and I snatched the loaf off him, opened the freezer and…ha ha! popped my wallet in the freezer basket while I grumpily and rather self-righteously showed him.

Yep, it was in the freezer. This has to be one of my better examples of pride before a fall.

Every so often I catch myself edging down the whole getting older/forgetting stuff vortex of doom and gloom and have to get a little cerebrally stern, reminding myself of the plethora of tasks I juggle each day and the many figurative hats I wear. Hey, surely I’m allowed to misplace things once in a while!

Has anyone seen my glasses?

As I type this, I am enjoying the first day of our listening to the Homestead Christmas Playlist; it’s a good’un even if I do say so myself. Tonight everyone’s here to put up the tree (new this year as The Engineer wanted the old one in town), hang the lights that don’t all-year-round in the best red-neck, countryfolk fashion and put up the wreath and plasticy-rubber lettering. Farm Girl is doing the catering and afterwards we’re all sitting down to watch the new Dr Who – not Christmassy, but Farm Girl keeps seeing social media spoilers and it is something we must watch together.

And I’m thinking…if it ever comes down to a trade off for memory space, I’m all for ditching a heap of wallet, glasses and car key locations. I’d also happily let go of all the lyrics to the Bay City Rollers’ Shang-a-lang, Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree and Alfred Noyes’ The Highwayman along with a heap of other bits of gumph my brain clings on to.

Things like tonight: I’m going to grab them as they rip, increasingly faster, by. Hold them tight; keep them close. I’m all for remembering the important stuff.

Postscript: I mentioned our awesome Christmas playlist – a jumble of genres, classics and newbies, humorous and morose, upbeat and maudlin – and first on the list, literally number one, now and forever: Fairytale of New York by The Pogues. RIP Shane MacGowan.