IT'S Christmas time, as if you hadn't noticed, and everyone is caught up in the festive frenzy. You know, shopping till they drop, elbowing each other out of the way to get at the last box of mince pies, wondering how much sherry and advocaat they should have in the drinks cabinet in case some elderly relative fancies getting tipsy on a thimbleful of the stuff on Christmas Day.
What, er, fun.
But please, pause for a moment and spare a thought for those less fortunate than yourself. There are those, and they may even be your friends or your family, who miss out on something truly special at Christmas time. They need your
help.
I'm talking about those poor individuals whose parents' lack of family planning skills resulted in their birthdays being all but wiped off the calendar. If like me, you were born too close to Christmas, you can forget having the kind of birthday celebration others might take for granted.
For a start, don't bother trying to organise a birthday party. Your pals are too busy going to office parties - and recovering from the hangovers - to come.
You might also want to think twice about going out for a meal because if you do go out, everywhere will be jam-packed with office parties - second only to stag/hen nights on the irritation scale (unless you're on one yourself, of course). And all the restaurants are serving turkey with all the trimmings, as if people don't get enough cranberry sauce on Christmas Day.
As for birthday presents, everyone's a bit too skint to buy one - but strangely your Christmas pressie conveniently doubles up. And even with birthday cards: well, some of your mates think they can get away with scribbling happy birthday! inside the Christmas card. Two for the price of one!
I shouldn't let it bother me - especially at my age, when birthdays are beginning to become something I'd much rather forget about.
But over the years at least I've realised I am not alone in having a birthday bugbear. After all, roughly one in 12 of the population will be born in the last three weeks of December or the first week of January - which I have very unscientifically designated as the seasonal birthday black hole. So I am speaking for a small but significant minority.
I should count myself lucky, actually. Doctors told my mum that her little bundle of joy would be delivered on December 25th. Thankfully I had the presence of mind to instigate proceedings six days earlier and I was born at 7.35am on December 19th. (No, I'm not saying which year - but here's a clue: Slade had shot to number one four days earlier with a catchy little ditty called Merry Xmas Everybody.)
OTHERS in my family weren't quite so lucky - I have a second cousin born on Christmas Day, while my granny and my aunt were both born on December 22 (though not in the same year, I should add, before anyone gets upset).
My mum and I have occasionally flirted with the idea of moving my birthday to another month of the year, like June. The Queen and even Paddington Bear both have official birthdays on days other than their actual ones.
But somehow it's not quite the same. I'd have to decide whether to celebrate my birthday six months earlier - almost speeding up the ageing process - or six months later, delaying the present giving process. So it looks like I'm stuck with a December birthday that's too close to Christmas.
But it's not always been bad. Sometimes I managed to be on school holidays, so I avoided the dumps. Occasionally the school disco or office party has coincided with my birthday so I've been able to pretend that everyone there had come because of little old me.
And I still have fond memories of my primary one Christmas party, though I don't recall being entirely pleased that I had to share my Wombles-adorned cake with the rest of the class.
This year I took matters into my own hands to make it extra special. The other half and I went to Copenhagen for the weekend and had a jolly nice time visiting the Little Mermaid and sampling mulled wine at Tivoli gardens.
By the time you read this I'll be back to reality, slaving over a hot keyboard in my home office.
But instead of moping that all my fun is over, guess what? It's only a few days before I've got another excuse for a party.
Have a great Christmas!
Figures don't add up on pupils' numeracyTHE latest figures on literacy and numeracy in Edinburgh schools make sobering reading. Surely it is not unrealistic to expect that virtually all children should be able to read and write by the age of 14?
But what is perhaps of more concern is the local authority's attitude towards what can only be described as a decline in performance. City education leader Ewan Aitken seems to think that whether pupils can read, write and count are not reliable indications of whether a school is succeeding. Then what is?
Councillor Aitken has said: "It really infuriates me, the assumption that, taken on their own, these figures in themselves tell us anything significant about the effectiveness of our schools. Every school has its own context. That context includes poverty, levels of support from parents and the community." That is true - to an extent.
But what really infuriates me is using poverty as an excuse for poor academic achievement. If the council lets standards slide, they are in danger of writing off the very pupils who would most benefit from a good education.
• IT'S that time of year when we all batten down the hatches, turn up the central heating and try to forget about just how big the gas bill will be in three months.
And you don't need to be all that energy-aware to realise that a poorly-insulated house is more expensive and wastes money, as well as the world's natural resources.
But it seems those that run the home of devolution are not terribly worried. It is being predicted that the Scottish Parliament will not be looking too good when it is required by an EU directive to display its energy rating. . . And you thought they could power their radiators with all that hot air.
Maybe the Green MSPs should make themselves useful with some loft insulation and a roll of cling film. And Robin Harper's trademark rainbow scarf is surely long enough to draught-exclude half of Holyrood.
