Countdown

Countdown is the name of Julie's favourite TV program at the moment.  For non-British readers I should explain that this is the most gentle competition show on the planet.  The games are either based on letters (similar to Scrabble) or numbers, and are as close as television can get to the puzzle pages on the back of a newspaper.  It is the kind of show in which competitors wear jumpers from Marks and Spencers, losing meets with sympathy, and any prizes are measured in hundreds rather than thousands.  The Ancient Romans would have hated it: not a lion in sight.

In general, Julie does not thrive on anticipation.  Everyone around us is excitedly counting down to Christmas, but the growing tension unsettles her.  All she can see is an approaching cliff edge.  Christmas day will be different from other days, but difference can be unwelcome.  Christmas day promises magic, but magic can be dangerous.  She oscillates between excitement and dread.

We try to deflate the bubble a little without absolutely bursting it.  Out goes the turkey, to be replaced with a more familiar joint of beef.  In years gone by, we ate our Christmas dinner at the slightly odd time of two o'clock - but it is now firmly planned for six o'clock, just like any other day.  We have even opened a few presents early, breaking the final family taboo. Whenever possible, we emphasize the continuity of time after Christmas: talking about what we will do on Boxing Day, or the day or week after that.  Thank goodness we do not have hordes of relations descending on us, throwing routine to the winds, plying us with drink, and talking up the joys of the season!  (But then again, one sometimes wonders if a horde of relations might have distracted Julie from some of her nightmares, provided us with extra pairs of eyes to watch over her, and reassured her that she is safe and much loved.)