I couldn’t deny that it was a nice prospect not to have to work through the complex negotiations with my immediate family – and Simon’s – about who, what and where was happening. Lacking the cruise excuse to wriggle out of Christmas, she instead insisted that she would be delighted to have everyone, but it would rather get in the way of the church flower rota, and of course Geoffrey and the cats had very sensitive dispositions and coped badly with change. So when I learned she had written a book, I was excited and delighted to receive not one but two copies of ‘Why Mummy Drinks’ for Christmas. I mean, I didn’t really want Jane to marry Rafferty – apart from anything else, my grandchildren would probably end up with even more ridiculous names than my niece and nephew, Persephone and Gulliver – but if she did, at least I could rest easy that she’d do well out of the divorce settlement, even if it wasn’t fair that stupid rich Rafferty’s stupid rich parents were spoiling my perfect Christmas with their STUPID RICHNESS, the bastards, because how could it possibly be Christmas without Jane, my baby girl?

Mummy is the self-styled Queen of Christmas, but just when she’s reached the pinnacle of perfection, and her Festive Vision is finally flawless, there’s no one around to witness it. And now Jane would rather go off to some bastarding Winter Wonderland IN ABROAD (where even was Verbier, I wondered dimly through my tears. The book group liked the diary format of 'Why Mummy Drinks', comparing it to 'The Diary of Adrian Mole', but this time with a 39 year old (equally irritating and confused) mum. If you feel that you're not one of the 'in gang' and that everyone else's lives are going much more smoothly than yours then you'll find you are not alone. Hallmark had literally built a brand around exactly that: families reunited for the holidays, front doors flung open and prodigal offspring tumbling over the threshold on a tide of laughter and candy canes and gently falling snow!And you might enjoy a spot of festive crafting with me,’ I retorted, trying to suppress the memories of that dreadful salt-dough night, because obviously I couldn’t back down now.

Going away at Christmas meant discomfort and other people’s houses and rules, and possibly sleeping on a deflating blow-up bed and trying to find a loo for a discreet poo after too much rich food without anyone knowing it was you who had pooed. The description of the ride on the top of the bus looking into the windows of the passing house was quite beautiful. This never boded well, because Jane is of the generation that regards actually talking on the electric telephone as a deeply unnatural and suspicious practice, and she can therefore only be induced to venture into such uncharted waters under great duress or in emergency situations.because Jane frolicking on fucking ski slopes instead of in my frosty fields was very much not part of my Festive Vision, but I knew of course that one cannot behave like that when one is a parent. A quick WhatsApp to my friends’ group chat revealed that Peter’s travelling companions Lucas and Toby, the errant offspring of, respectively, my oldest friend Hannah and one of my dearest friends Sam, had also attempted this ploy.

The novel follows Mummy, Ellen, throughout a year and is written in the form of a diary as she tries to be more organised and less frazzled! She’d walked out on him over ten years ago when he tried to introduce a ‘sister wife’ to their relationship in the form of a mad rich American who’d been foolish enough to come to the ‘alternative retreat’ that they ran in Scotland, and therefore Louisa, Bardo and the six troll-pig children would also be spending a delightful Christmas en famille, in their yurt. She is staring down the barrel of a future of people asking if she wants to come to their advanced yoga classes, and polite book clubs where everyone claims to be tiddly after a glass of Pinot Grigio and says things like ‘Oooh gosh, are you having another glass?I am sure that any parent will recognise themselves or their children in the book though I'd just like to point out here that I definitely did not have the copious amounts of wine and gin which Mummy drinks. Well, she miraculously learnt to walk again, and her joie de vivre and positive outlook caused that to happen, but she still got run over!

And so every December I’d once again be belting out ‘Hark the Herald Angels’ and sobbing over ‘Silent Night’ while trying to cope with everyone else’s agendas, ideas, expectations, traditions, issues, anxieties, allergies or intolerances (unfortunately both food- and race related in the case of my ghastly stepfather Geoffrey), and flinging mistletoe and holly around with wild abandon. I liked when Ellen stood up to the Head teacher and Michael (Louisa’s Father) Shouted at her, made me smile.

And now they have, you’ve come over all earth mother and decided you want nothing more than them back at home! Sims captures perfectly the sheer relentless monotony and drudgery that can easily form a large part of a parent’s day and pitches this perfectly to the social media generation. And I had just read the chapter about getting the little ones ready for school before I woke my little one up, and no matter how organised you try to be there is always something you are racing around the house looking for at the last minute.