It's Christmas! It's bloody Christmas already! How did that happen?
If Christmas was a giant juggernaut, forget about it coming towards me - it'd be there, there already; numberplate pressing down on my forehead There Already.

Carrying on this metaphorical cul de sac - I'm Christmas Roadkill.

There's a box of Christmas decorations that aren't going to get put up this side of Summer2012. The list of Christmas cards unsent is longer that list of cards signed, sealed and posted.
I have already resorted to wrapping presents in paper, any paper, whatever I can find under the stairs paper.
I have no idea what I'm wearing tomorrow, tomorrow night, or even, if  whatever it is is clean. Which is a problem, because I need to pack it in another ten minutes.

I could blame work; there's always too much of it for accountants at Year End. Yadda yadda yadda.
If you want it straight though, some years it just seems to get harder.
You know you're in trouble when the last verse of the Pogues gets you.

Hell, it'll be better next year.  I'll be better next year! Roll on 2012!
Meanwhiles here's the Pogues.
And here's to you too - Merry Christmas 2011!

 Tissues at the ready now....