'Ready for Christmas?' Why is it always the women who get asked that? – Susan Morrison

The taxi driver asked me “Ready for Christmas?” and the answer is, of course, nope.

Bob Cratchit swans around with Tiny Tim, while Mrs Cratchit slaves away at home (Illustration, from about 1844, by Fred Barnard/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

There are presents to be bought and the shopping to get in for the three days of feasting we like to indulge in from Eve to Boxing. Don’t get me started on who’s supposed to put up the tree, decorations and lights, and that's before the pre-decoration dusting, hoovering and wiping down. Then there’s the wrapping. Getting Christmas-ready is a full-time job.

Curiously, it’s a question I’ve never heard directed at a man. Women put in a tough shift at the festives, even in fiction. Mrs Cratchit slaves away in that kitchen roasting that goose and flaming that pudding, whilst Bob swans about the place with Tiny Tim.

Mrs Claus, I am willing to bet, has been dealing with the increasingly militant demands of elves on the toy workshop floor, who’ve been working hard to maintain the supply lines for hard-to-find fashionable gifts and keeping those reindeer in flight readiness for months now, only to see the big man swagger up at Sleigh time and take all the credit.

Oh, I know, there are amazing women who start Christmas preparation in July, but I am of the tribe of wild-eyed women you see in M&S, John Lewis and TK Maxx, trying to persuade ourselves that our nearest and dearest have always wanted a pair of Winnie the Pooh self-heating socks. Hang on a minute, they do sound nice.

It’s a battle, but there’s the joy of finding that nice wee something and thinking, “oh, she’ll like that” and yes, it’s nearly always “she”. The iceberg that sinks the most ardent gift hunter is usually the man in our lives. What do you buy a Yorkshireman you’ve been with for more than three decades? It never gets easier. Last year I bought him a seaplane flight. I know! It was great. Too great. How do you top that? Also, I wanted to go on a seaplane.

He has a hobby, but it's railways and things. One year I walked into Waterstones and demanded to see the most boring book about trains and related matters they had. They produced GWR Railway Sheds 1935-1948. I’ll take it, said I, and for heaven's sake, wrap it and don’t even look at it, laddie. Remember the end of Raiders where they open the Ark without the right health and safety protocols? A book this boring requires a special enthusiasm to handle it. My husband thought it was brilliant.

The tree has been acquired and festooned. This year I had a helping hand, well, paw, from a small ginger cat. There are baubles under the sofa, the chair and, strangely, in the back garden.

He helped with the decorations, too. It gave the house a ‘post-apocalyptic Christmas’ feel, with everything that glittered, shimmered and involved bells winding up on the floor. Entire rolls of Sellotape were used to put them back, then I sat down with a well-earned mug of tea and a mince pie. All around me I heard the sound of the tape gently unsticking itself. Oh, it could take the weight of the decorations, but not the added heft of a cat.

Am I ready for Christmas? Nah. But it’ll be great, no matter what.