ESCAPE:Last year, Isabel Mortontold us it was a good idea to get those Christmas preparations done and dusted by November. This year, she has changed her tune altogether and is leaving the country
THE DECISION WASN'T taken lightly. In fact, it required an international family conference (involving three countries via Skype video phone calls), lengthy and somewhat heated discussions and a democratic vote (via e-mail). Cyberspace went quiet for quite some time before I eventually achieved a reluctant agreement.
Then, there was the little matter of trying to synchronise diaries and agree dates, which was not for the faint-hearted, given that the individual demands of a number of people's very busy lives had to be taken into consideration.
Luckily it didn't take too much persuasion (bribery) to get my brother to agree to move in to look after our dog, which is prone to deep bouts of depression unless given constant love and attention.
All that and more had to be negotiated, before flights could be booked or cars hired.
Yes, you've guessed it. We are going away for Christmas.
It all started around this time last year, when I decided that, having hosted the "joyous" celebration over the last three decades, I craved a break and a change of scenery.
At the time, my family all presumed that I was issuing empty threats and promptly ignored my ranting and raving. Why would their mother, (the Manic Queen of Christmas), want to "opt out" from the highlight of her calendar year?
And they were right as, by that time, I was halfway through the preparations, had issued numerous invitations and had no particular "opt out" plan in mind.
But by early September this year, the subject of Christmas reared its jolly little head again and this time I was ready for it.
It suddenly struck me that if I didn't opt out this year, I probably would never get another chance. My children are grown up and my granddaughter not yet a year old, therefore there is a small window of opportunity now, while she is still too young to realise that she is being deprived of a traditional Irish Christmas.
Note the way that I am attempting to transfer my feeling of guilt down the line to the next generation, despite the fact that my daughter and her husband are superb parents and well capable of creating special memories for their own child.
This is typical of "Women's Guilt Syndrome", from which I suffer badly.
Anyway, my plan for the "opt-out" Christmas will not in any way, deprive us of festive cheer. But with any luck, I may be relieved of weeks of preparation, shopping, cooking and grand-scale entertaining.
The problem isn't so much Christmas Day itself, but the endless weeks of hysteria surrounding the event. And the vast number of associated "festive" occasions, which dominate the entire month of December and the first two weeks of January.
People you have not seen for centuries insist on meeting up with you at this time of the year. And invariably, they'll kindly suggest that they will "pop in" to visit you for a "quick drink".
Six bottles of wine and a three-course meal later, they will hug you and tell you how sorry they are that they hadn't dropped in more often throughout the year.
Now, please don't misunderstand me. I love Christmas and all that goes with it. In fact, I adore it. It appeals to the control-freak aspect of my nature.
But Christmas is a time when even the most organised and efficient of control freaks can become unhinged. We are prone to going into overdrive and reaching unprecedented heights of mania at the mere mention of Yuletide. It brings out the absolute worst in us.
Normally, by early November, my Christmas cards would have been written and would be ready and waiting for An Post to get a move on and issue their seasonal stamps.
Anything that could have been done would have been done, such as Christmas cakes, puddings and brandy butter. Seasonal decorations would have been unearthed, checked, repaired or replaced. And I'd have re-stocked on candles, Christmas crackers, alcohol, cinnamon, loo paper, cleaning products and indeed anything else that could be stored for any period of time.
I would have put my name down for an organic turkey so long ago that I would almost have felt responsible for its conception.
And I'd have ordered my cooked ham from Hick's in Dún Laoghaire so early that my name would be the first to christen Pauline's Christmas order book.
It's not that I'm a manically organised person - it's just that I can't bear the feeling of being disorganised. (There is a difference, I assure you.)
But this year, things are different.
Im jittery, twitchy and nervy. Im twiddling my thumbs and my hair, nibbling my nails, blocking my ears and averting my eyes. I am concentrating hard on ignoring all the pre-Christmas hype.
And believe me, it's hard. Like an addict denied their fix, it will be cold turkey for me this year.
So now I have no one to blame but myself. I was the one who created the new set of rules, so now I have to live by them.
I spelled it out clearly to everyone from the outset. If we were going away for Christmas, that would mean that we were not going to decorate the house at home as usual, we were not going to re-create Christmas dinner in all its glory at some future date next January. If we were going to opt out of our normal Christmas, it would be a 100 per cent opt-out.
Luckily, the limited baggage allowance will mean that you-know-who will not be permitted to be as indulgent as usual. In fact, the Kris Kindle gift system is to be enforced to ensure that we are not dragging away a myriad of gifts, which will all then have to be dragged back again, before being exchanged for something else entirely in the January sales.
Of course, when trying to persuade the family to agree to the new plan, I dangled a different style of Christmas carrot in front of their eyes. (This time, the carrot was going to be one of the misshapen ones, which have recently been permitted to grace our supermarket shelves. It may not look the perfect classical carrot shape, but it would taste equally delicious.)
This year we plan to enjoy a calm and relaxed Christmas in France. There will be no Christmas tree and no decorations, other than candles, a few pine cones and a roaring log fire. We plan to take long walks by the sea, play board games and cards, read the books we've been meaning to get around to all year and enjoy the delights of great French food and wine.
We hope to enjoy the seasonal atmosphere of the village outdoor Christmas markets, go skiing and ice-skating, investigate the tiny shops lining the ancient cobbled streets and enjoy the warm winter sunshine as we indulge in delicious lunch outside the local restaurant.
On Christmas morning we plan to walk up the hill to the lighthouse, where we will attend a service in the quaint little mariners' church and have a glass of mulled wine with the locals afterwards in the tiny adjoining cafe.
There will be no traffic, no parking problems, no queues, no panicky last minute shopping and, most importantly, no stress.
As the French never bothered with the commercial nonsense that has become so much part of the festive season in Ireland, they manage to enjoy the spirit of Christmas without having to indulge in the unseemly extravagant excesses we now consider normal.
As usual, the French do things with style and they somehow manage to create a magical atmosphere, despite the fact that they barely bother to close their shops and restaurants for more than a few hours on Christmas Day, in order to allow them to recover from the previous evening's celebratory dinner.
As the autumn months have passed, the idea of opting out of the Christmas rat race has become more and more attractive. And now, as a nation officially in mourning for the loss of our beloved Celtic Tiger, it is unlikely that many of us will indulge in raucous parties or wild celebrations this season. Whether you can afford it or not, gross extravagance would now be considered rather bad form.
However, in true "control-freak" style, my worries have transferred to areas over which I have no control, such as an Aer Lingus strike. I have visions of my entire family stuck in Dublin airport for days, not wanting to go home to our non-decorated house for fear that our flight would suddenly be re-scheduled.
Or worse again, that they would let us fly out, but only late on Christmas Eve and by the time we landed, the French would have closed up shop and we'll have nothing to eat or drink in the house. Or maybe Dublin airport would be shut down entirely and we'd just have to forget the whole idea of getting away for Christmas, and suddenly I would be forced to join the manic fray and cram all I would normally have done weeks in advance, into a few short days.
Oh dear, so much for opting out - here I go again!