I WONDER what odds the bookies are offering on a white Christmas this year. Pretty short I would think.

I’m not keen on driving in snowy conditions so I’ve stayed local.

The upside is that so far I have been spared the piped ‘Santa’ songs that are endlessly played in shops this time of year.

I make it a rule not do anything Christmassy before December 1, which is when I begin writing Christmas cards.

I could make life easier for myself and bung out an email card, they can be very attractive but I prefer to send my greetings in a more physical form.

Over the year I write regularly to my Mum-in-law Edna, and to my grandchildren.

My eldest granddaughter Ellis, aged 16, tells me that she has kept them all. How lovely.

We all know that a great deal of preparation goes into the festivities and like most women I tend to find that I’m the one making them.

The shopping seems endless, as does the wrapping of presents, then there’s the trimmings to hang and the mince pies to make.

The best bit of all is risking frost bite as you probe the frozen depths of your freezer to root out bits of last year’s turkey, along with heavily frosted packages of something you saved - but have long forgotten - just to make room for all that food you’ve brought in.

Life would be so much simpler if we didn’t have to eat.

My husband Keith is of the opinion that Christmas would not happen if it wasn’t for women. He’s dead right there.

One piece of unfailing seasonal magic is that despite the harsh weather conditions the post arrives at my door every day.

The postmen and women battle through hail and high water to bring us not just the usual a pile of instant recycling, but cards and letters from friends and family.

This week they brought me two birth certificates. They were those of my newly-discovered half brothers.

I was given up for adoption... and on reading their birth certificates, I found that it was their fate also.

I had hoped for a Christmas reunion but it might take till Easter to find where life has taken them.