If Helen Fielding can do it, so can I: turn the stresses and strains of everyday life into a money-spinning diary.

I'm no Bridget Jones, but I have just as much to whinge about - particularly at this time of year. Here's Helen Mead's Diary of the so-called joyous Christmas holiday.

December24

Alcohol: 3 glasses wine (average);

biscuits: 5 (bad);

arguments with family members: 2 (average).

Stress level: high and rising.

Attempt to tidy seriously dishevelled house but abandon task as will be bomb site tomorrow when children open 9,000 presents from grandparents. Realise in afternoon that we have no trimmings to accompany turkey. Tear round supermarket to find vegetable aisles heavily plundered. Reject remaining withered pepper in favour of frozen spinach (need the energy) and jar of piccalilli. Two-year-old in bed by nine after stressful supper when carton of Thomas Tank Engine yoghurt ended up all over cat. Not sure will visit family over Christmas. Mother rings - most displeased over stay-at-home plan. Bicker with husband over his mega-rich mother's Scrooge-like behaviour in not sending children card or present. Gift-wrapping nightmare - run out of Sellotape, forced to use masking tape, looked like grubby bandages.

December25

Alcohol: 2 glasses sherry (not bad);

biscuits: 3 (OK);

chocolates: 11 (bad);

Christmas cake: 3 ex-large slices (regretful);

arguments with family: 3 (not bad for Christmas Day);

Stress level: Somewhere in stratosphere.

Children awake at 7am. Am exhausted, can barely face jolly Xmas morning. Get blinding headache from Christmas service on radio. Plan to put turkey in oven 8am, actual time due to manic morning 11am. House resembles land-fill. Children thrilled. Meal-time disaster as turkey not ready with vegetables. Ring mother about weird gift - electric plaque remover - think she had funny turn. Tackle father about unwanted gift of pet-hate mobile phone. Mother-in-law rings. Frosty manner towards me results in major bust-up with husband. Pledge to file for divorce when solicitors back at work.

December26

Alcohol: 5 glasses home-made wine (delicious);

biscuits: none (v good);

chocolates: lost count (v bad);

Christmas cake: 2 large slices (willpower needed);

Arguments with family: 3 (not bad);

stress level: manageable.

Drive to parents (before sampling home-made wine) for weekend. Festering rift with husband over mother-in-law. Huge calorie-laden meal. Successfully burn off half a grain of sugar with five-minute stroll around village. At loggerheads with mum over children's bath-time - "far too late" at 7pm (at home it's at least an hour after that). Immediately disadvantaged during evening's Scrabble game with letters MZEEEUJ. Rift with husband healing. New rift brewing with dad over mobile phone phobia.

December27

Alcohol: 2 glasses wine (sensible);

biscuits: 1, but huge, chocolate covered, in shape of Xmas tree;

chocolates: 5;

Christmas cake: one slice (good);

Arguments: 6 (understandable, second day of visit).

Stress level: soaring.

Nice sleep-in until 9am (long for pre-kids days when 9am was horribly early) while parents take over. Have rows with following people: 1. Mother (transport problems - forgot to bring pushchair), 2. Husband (whose fault it was); 3. Sister (why we really need pushchair for three-mile walk to next village); 4. Dad (why a mobile phone would be useful en route). Luckily it rains - abandon walk. Drive home in huff.

December28

Alcohol: Nil (back to barren larder of home);

biscuits: 2 cream crackers (need I say more?);

chocolates: 8 (raid on children's selection box);

Christmas cake: one slice (can't resist);

Arguments: none (highly unusual);

Stress level: high.

Managed to get vacuum out and circumnavigate 78 toys. Fridge so empty thought might as well clean it. Children in bed by 8pm - amazing what large dose of Calpol (both full of cold) will do. Slump exhausted with worn-out husband to watch appalling holiday TV - far worse than usual.

December29

Back to work. Stress level: non-existent (post-Christmas euphoria). Whoever wrote song: "I wish it could be Christmas every day" should be sectioned.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.