Bree Van De Kamp, look out...

Slap my arse and call me Judy. Actually, no - just call me Nigella, for I am a newly-appointed domestic goddess. Well, almost. (Only with a rounder backside and no suggestive spoon-licking shots for the imaginary camera in my kitchen.) Yes, pardon my self appreciation here, but the truffles for work did not turn out like little poisoned balls of evil; instead, they were rather nice and I was mightily impressed with my confectionery efforts. As were my colleagues when I handed them out. Happy days indeed.

Yum.

OK, my sister helped me with one batch (I needed 2 pairs of hands - one to roll the truffles, one to dip them in chocolate) but I'm still proud. I even survived a slightly panicky 10 minutes when I thought the white chocolate batch I was making had split in the bowl (cue lots of swearing). They hadn't. I just hadn't taken them off the heat. Panic over. So, in-keeping with my 1950s-housewife image, I have (somewhat belatedly) asked Father Christmas to kindly find the time to fill my stocking with some cookbooks so I can experiment further. I wonder what he might bring.

Even more exciting is how many more working days I have left before Christmas - only two to go! Oh yeah. Had my team Christmas lunch (not a turkey in sight - all veggie!) and the drinks after work on Friday - amusing, to say the least. I was slightly merry, and have a vague recollection of telling my friend G that she had fantastic boobs (whilst copping a feel). And I ended up in a little pub where they were playing reggae. But not just any reggae, oh no. Bad reggae versions of Christmas songs. We left in protest via the Chinese takeaway.

Humbug, Scrooge, Grinch...whatever...

Tonight I'm missing my work Christmas party. Yes, yes - I know. While it is considered to be bad form by many not to attend; in my defence, I was double booked. But before you rename me Ebeneezer - it might be the company-wide party I'm missing, but I've still got my team Christmas lunch to look forward to, and the customary drinks-after-work-on-the last-day-of-term affair. I very much doubt I'd have been missed anyway. There'll have been the same gossip as last year which I'll hear all about tomorrow - someone will have made a horrendous fashion faux-pas; someone will have kissed someone they shouldn't have; someone will have said something they definitely shouldn't have; and there'll be beautiful pasty faces, panda eyes and hangovers galore at work in the morning. And besides, I'm on a mission this week. And that mission is truffles.

In a vain attempt to save some dosh this Christmas, I decided to make all my presents for work. Last year when I was the new girl, it was sprung on me at the last minute that my team of eight all buy gifts for each other, so I had to hot-foot it into town on my lunch hour and hastily ended up making my own crackers. (Bought a couple of cracker kits and filled them with sweets and mini games. They went down well. My stress levels did not. Fighting the shopping crowds a few days before Christmas with an hour's window is not my idea of a good time.) So this year, I'm more prepared and fancy testing my culinary skills. I've been out for the ingredients, have jars and decorations a-go-go and am all set to whip up a confectionery storm. However, I have never made any such things before and sweet treats are known not to be my forte in the kitchen, so this could all go hideously wrong. If I end up with inedible chocolate golf balls that look like they were made on the Generation Game, I'll resort to Plan B: olives and herbs in oil.

And it's my last full week at work before Christmas this week - awoohoo! The little iPod is loaded with Yuletide tunes and I'm ready to sing. In my head, of course. I wouldn't subject the hungover office to the horrors of my tuneless voice. Then again...

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas...

OK, we've had a flurry of snow (not a lot, and it didn't last very long - but enough to render half the office unable to come into work); it's cold and icy outside; our Christmas tree is standing proud and bedecked with twinkly trinkets in the newly-decorated lounge (after an ordeal and a half trying to get the damned thing to fit in its stand - neither of us had the sense to take a tape measure with us when selecting a tree - that'd be too easy); I've started the Christmas shopping (online - I can't face the shops just yet but may have to at some point) and have more festive gatherings to attend than I can shake a stick at. Christmas is here.

What could possibly make me feel even more Christmassy than I already do? Christmas films, of course! After a viewing of Home Alone today I'm all warm and fuzzy inside and hungry for more holiday cheer. So I've dug out these old favourites for more festive film fun this week:

• Home Alone and Home Alone 2: Lost in New York: Essentially the same plot in each (self-explanatory if you haven't seen them - an obnoxious but cute and resourceful child being left alone by mistake over the holidays), but so so Christmassy. I want to live in Kevin McCallister's house. And fantastic seasonal soundtracks - Chuck Berry's 'Run Rudolph Run', Brenda Lee's 'Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree', Bobby Helms' 'Jingle Bell Rock'...they're all here.
• It's a Wonderful Life: The quintessential feel-good film, you can watch this at any time of the year to lift your spirits. James Stewart is perfect in the role of his life - suicidal family man George Bailey who is shown what life would be like had he never existed by a trainee angel named Clarence. It sounds bleak and desperate - but you'll have to watch the uplifting ending for yourself.
  
• The Muppet Christmas Carol: Just genius. The retelling of Dickens' A Christmas Carol by Kermit, Gonzo and co. Full to bursting of sing-along songs (look out for the singing vegetables in the opening number - all together now "There goes Mr. humbug, there goes Mr. Grim...if they gave a prize for being mean, the winner would be HIM!") and muppet humour, plus a camp performance of Ebeneezer Scrooge by Michael Caine.
  
• Scrooged: An underrated gem. A very 80s version of A Christmas Carol, with Bill Murray taking sarcasm to a new level as the Scrooge of the story, TV network president Frank Cross. Has a very sugary ending but I don't care - the one-liners and Carol Kane's Ghost of Christmas Present are worth it alone.
  
• The Nightmare Before Christmas: Bizarre and typically Tim Burton - Jack Skellington, the King of Halloweentown, discovers a portal to Christmas Town and takes over - kidnapping Santa and delivering his own scary presents to bewildered children. But he finds the true meaning of Christmas and sets out to make amends. Creepy and Christmassy.
  
• Gremlins: Not really a Christmas film in its theme, but set at Christmas and has a brilliant Phil Spector-Motowny soundtrack featuring Darlene Love et all. Quite gruesome in places (the death-by-kitchen-appliances scene for some of the pesky critters springs to mind) but hilarious and filled with blink-and-you-miss-them moments.
  

I'm off to snuggle up on the sofa with the cat, a blanket and some hot chocolate. Bliss. I may never go out again.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year...

The festive season is upon us. There's a whisper in the air about the office Christmas party; and while the group of stupid ditzes in my place of work (every office has such a group of empty-headed bints) are already whining about the lack of decent party clothes in the shops and swapping details of their latest idiotic crash diets - I'm happy to report that my diary is filling up nicely with get-togethers and drinks. Both myself and The Other Half are feeling more festive this year. Last year, we hadn't been living in our new pad for very long and were still unpacking when Christmas descended upon us - hence a hastily decorated tree was shoved up in the living room and cards were forgotten about.

In fact, both The Other Half and I have already had our first Yuletide gatherings and we're starting to feel very Christmassy. On Wednesday I had a long-overdue catch up with my two bestest gal buds from my MA - and we gossiped for a long, long time about all sorts and put the world to rights several times over. The Other Half had his official work do (he thinks there may be several Christmas lunches as well over the coming weeks)...and it was fancy dress. Cue some crazy shopping, and my good self and our friend J making a pink frilly tutu for a 6"5 bloke so he could go dressed as Ace Ventura. It worked. J's sewing skills are far superior to mine. Bizarre just doesn't sum up the sight of seeing a grown man dressed in a ballerina/Hawaiian shirt combo.

I have it on good authority that my Other Half danced like this.

Last night we headed out to stay over the new gaff of some pals - and got to meet their new dog, a five-month old Labrador named Charlie. Very cute and boisterous. Ate my shoe. And when we were unpacking and getting ready for bed, he broke into our room and ran off with The Other Half's jeans. Then socks. Then trainers. And proceeded to get his head stuck in our bag when he ran out of things to steal. This morning we all experienced something you'd rather not at this time of year - the holiday hangovers. I fear there may be many more to follow.

Really, you shouldn't have...

Well, since it's December and we're officially into Advent, I'm allowing myself to think about Christmas. Briefly. I've been avoiding all the Christmas advertising like the plague for the last month, but now I'm starting to make a mental list of things I might buy for people. It can be really hard - you want to find something that you know will be appreciated, otherwise your gift recipient will have to put their best Oscar-winning acting skills into gear on Christmas morning and feign delight over some truly terrible present.

I have had to call upon the very same skills myself on several occasions. I was always told that it's the thought that counts; but thinking back to all those heinous gifts I have received throughout the years (usually from 'well-meaning' elderly relatives, whom I have still written thank you notes for, I might add, albeit through graciously gritted teeth), I realise that this was just my parents way of placating me to write out said notes while they could have a good chuckle about it all. So, here's my run-down of all the nasty tat I have experienced that dreaded sinking feeling with as I unwrapped just what I never wanted.

The Truly Awful Christmas Gift Parade:

• Handkerchiefs. These aren't so bad, I suppose. But they always get left in their box and passed to the nearest village tombola.
• Marzipan fruits. I don't like marzipan. Nobody I know likes marzipan. I think these were donated to a neighbour who needed to decorate a cake for a Harvest Festival the following September.
• A plaque with my surname engraved on. Did this person know me at all? No.
• Grandma perfume. You just know that whoever gave you it has wrapped up an unwanted present they received themselves.
• A jar of peanuts. I kid you not. Still, they were eaten by hungry revelers on New Year's Eve.
• Vegetables. Useful, yes. But for Christmas? Really?
• Pot-pourri. Does anyone under 50 even know what its for?!
  
• A box of biscuits. Not so bad, you might think. Well, ordinarily this would have been a perfectly nice gift. Except that they'd been opened, and all the good biscuits were missing.
• Pyjamas that would fit an eight year-old. I was 16 at the time.
• A porcelain clown. I have an irrational fear of clowns (which in hindsight probably started with this awful ornament staring down at my from my bedroom shelf) and attempted several times to kill this menacing creature by throwing balled-up socks at it. I eventually broke its foot and my mother dearest finally removed him from my room.
• A brooch to clip your silk scarf in place. Delightful for your favourite Great Aunt, not so much for a child under ten. Unless said child has a thing for 1950s attire. I did not. It was the 80s.
  
• A lipstick - which had been used! It was promptly binned. Honestly, just don't bother.
  
• A book of erotic poetry. I was 13, and looking back - hope I was given it by mistake.
• Fancy-looking (but not really) soaps which always come wrapped in waxed paper and smell like the contents of a grandma's handbag - i.e. a sickly, stinky mixture of mint imperials, lavender-scented drawer liners and Yardley face rouge.
  

Good gawd. I know I must sound like an ungrateful little bugger, but sometimes it really is better to give than receive.