WITH the festive season within touching distance it’s no time to be a hypochondriac as every twinge or sniff could herald the start of that Christmas ruining bug.

My seasonal anxiety usually starts around now and lasts until about January 2 when I’m happy to succumb in order to avoid having to help take the tree down.

For the next three weeks I will be fully dosed up on every vitamin known to mankind and avoiding anyone who even hints at a sniff.

I’m not quite as bad as my late father who once swore he caught a cold from a cousin merely by speaking to her on the phone…but according to the housemate, I’m getting there.

“Will you please stop asking me if I’m alright,” she snapped the other evening. “You’re making me feel as if there’s something wrong with me and there’s not because I’m fine.”

“I’m just checking,” I replied, not really willing to admit I was more worried about her catching something and passing it on, than actually worried about her.

“Why are you ringing me every morning?” asked The Mother as she answered the phone earlier this week.

“Do I need a reason to ring you,” I replied innocently.

“I know you’re checking to see if I’m still alive, so stop it,” she snapped.

“I’m not,” I replied….”Well ok I am but we have got a lot on over the next few weeks and we need everyone on top of their games!”

The crisis point almost came on the weekend when we headed out to get our Christmas trees. After an extensive perusal of various diaries it became clear that our traditional family outing would have to be sacrificed this year after our planned visit to the housemate’s family earlier in the month was postponed when her grandson caught a cold.

“We just can’t find a date when we can all go,” said my sister after our fourth failed attempt to settle on a time.

“We’ll have to go on Saturday and get one for us and for The Mother, then you can go on Sunday and get yours.”

“It was much easier without you,” came the text live from Holders’ Christmas Trees on Saturday afternoon.

“Dean already had his eye on a few for us,” said my sister. “It was an easy choice once I convinced your Grinch-like brother in law that we would never have a pretend tree!”

“It actually stayed fairly dry as well. Not like last year when we went out in a force ten gale to get the trees,” she added.

By Sunday when we headed out on our tree buying expedition, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. As I peered out of the back door at the driving rain the housemate rolled her eyes.

“You always say it doesn’t matter what the weather is like because we can wrap up warm and its good fun because it’s the start of Christmas,” she said pulling on her boots.

“I know…I’m just worried about getting soaking wet.”

“You’ve got a thick coat on!”

“I don’t want to catch a chill though,” I replied popping another handful of vitamins as she stomped off to the car.