Victoria Summerley: City Life

'I'm getting ready to celebrate Listmas, the festive season that is adorned with strings of instructions and requests'

I'm getting ready to celebrate Listmas. The festive season, for most women, is adorned with strings of instructions and requests: order goose, buy cranberries, make cake, purchase presents, hunt for Sellotape (remember to get more Sellotape), find scissors, put up tree, fix lights, wrap presents, write cards, get stamps, stand in four-hour queue for goose at the local butcher.

In my case, these tasks are listed on grubby bits of paper that lurk accusingly at the bottom of my handbag. That's if I'm lucky. If I'm unlucky, I get to the supermarket and find that I've left the bloody list at home.

What I'd really like to do is sit down, put my feet up and read a book. For three days. But that's being a bit unrealistic (the season of Listmas is dedicated to practicalities), so I shall now put down that Barbara Kingsolver novel and get on with the chores. Secretly, however, I shall be compiling my own fantasy Listmas wishlist. Here's a sneak preview:

I'd like: my children to greet their grandparents and other adult relatives with sparkling conversation and offers of drinks or cups of tea. They will pass round smoked-salmon sandwiches and nibbles without scoffing the lot en route, and entertain the assembled hordes with medieval carols and madrigals in four-part harmony. Questions such as: "How are you getting on at school/with your music lessons/A-levels" will elicit polite and articulate responses.

I'll settle for: an occasional smile.

I'll get: two absent teenagers, frantically MSNing their friends upstairs ("OMG, I'm sooooo bored and why doesn't my mum get a life!!!!!).

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I'd like: a magic pen that writes Christmas cards by itself.

I'll settle for: a pen that doesn't run out halfway through someone's humungously long address.

I'll get: an empty drawer where the pens are supposed to be.

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I'd like: the holiday season to be free from the noise of angle-grinders, chainsaws, skip lorries, cement mixers and all the other building work that starts up every day in our street (yes, even at the weekend) at 8am.

I'll settle for: the cessation of work from 4pm on Christmas Eve until 8am the day after Boxing Day.

I'll get: some idiot will give one of my neighbours an angle-grinder or chainsaw for Christmas, which they will have to try out in the garden that very moment, drowning out Carols from King's or the blockbuster movie.

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I'd like: to lose two stone by New Year's Day.

I'll settle for: not putting on any more weight.

I'll get: a nasty surprise when I stand on the scales on Boxing Day. Why is it that one mince pie and a glass of champagne can make you put on a stone overnight?

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I'd like: a new dishwasher.

I'll settle for: the top rack of the dishwasher and all the clean mugs and glasses not falling out every time I open the door.

I'll get: the top rack of the dishwasher and all the clean mugs and glasses falling out every time I open the door.

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I'd like: a new Barbara Kingsolver novel.

I'll settle for: something by C J Sansom.

I'll get: Nigella Express, by Nigella Lawson.

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I'd like: not to be mean-spirited enough to wonder whether to cross some old friend off my Christmas card list because they failed to send me a card last year.

I'll settle for: sending them the naff card with the cartoon reindeer on it.

I'll get: 20 Christmas cards addressed to people I've never heard of, containing lengthy fond messages but absolutely no clue that will enable me to forward them to the correct recipient or return to sender.

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I'd like: tasteful white Christmas-tree lights that operate only in static mode.

I'll settle for: white Christmas-tree lights that work in disco mode.

I'll get: a power cut.

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I'd like: to put up anyone who is coming to stay in a pristine spare room, complete with matching bedlinen, freshly spritzed with "pillow spray" or some other sort of smelly water devised to separate me from my hard-earned. There will be a posy of flowers and a flask of water on the bedside table, and cupboards and drawers will be emptied of clutter and lined with scented paper.

I'll settle for: a room that's not festooned with three weeks' worth of ironing and general household detritus.

I'll get: cat sick all over the bedside rug.

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I'd like: a world full of peace and love.

I'll settle for: a city full of temporary festive spirit, with drinks at the neighbours' and strangers calling "Happy Christmas!" as they pass you on Wandsworth Common during the traditional postprandial walk.

I'll get: a lump in my throat when I go to the school carol concert. Happy Christmas, everyone.

v.summerley@independent.co.uk