“WHAT are we doing for Christmas?”

Jane looked at me expectantly. “Let’s have the 25th off,” I replied. “And this year you can have the 28th off as well.”

Jane was not impressed. “No, I mean as a team. What are we going to do for Christmas?”

That annual scourge – the work ‘Christmas do’ has returned. Each day I open my inbox fearful of yet another Christmas invitation. Don’t get me wrong. I love the bustle of Christmas – choosing the tree, decorating it, planning the food, buying the presents, hanging up the stockings. But I’m struggling with the way that the Christmas fest infects work as well as home.

“Are you free on the 10th?” asked Tricia. “Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“The board have invited us managers out for a Christmas meal. The invitation says bring your partner – so I wondered if you’d come with me.” “I’m not your partner,” I said. “I know,” she replied.

“But I don’t want to go – so I thought you could come with me. I can’t not go – It would look awful.” The prospect of attending someone else’s Christmas do as their comfort blanket was just too ghastly to contemplate – even for a longstanding friend.

I know it’s good to get to know your colleagues better; that relaxing together and finding out how fellow team members tick pays dividends. But with 364 other days readily available, Christmas has to be the worst time to choose.

Restaurants are overbooked and overpriced. Festive menus are tired turkey variations with a vegetarian risotto option followed by a ubiquitous mince pie. And finding space among the school carol services, Christmas fayres, end of term concerts, trips to the panto, late night shopping, Christmas lights switch-on, and childcare is a logistical impossibility. And this year I really am determined to get my cards in the postbox before the last posting date.

It’s not just work dos. A host of other quasi-working relationships are lurking ready to ambush: Governors, trustee boards, agency suppliers, invitations from former colleagues. All determined that our working or social relationship will be enhanced by toasting the arrival of the Messiah at a local hostelry. Sadly the best offer I’ve had to date, an evening at a Speakeasy just off the Hackney Road, clashes with our office carol service. Through gritted teeth I bash out an apology.

“Why don’t we do something in the New Year,” I suggest optimistically. Like most of my suggestions, it was meant to be both helpful and constructive.

But I guess it didn’t quite come across that way: she glowered at me. Later in the day I could hear mutterings by the photocopier ‘Bah Humbug’ ‘Scrooge’ ‘… wants to ban Christmas…’ With a sigh I click open my inbox, resigned to the festive inevitable…