Finale

– Another New Year's Eve... They seem to come around more quickly nowadays.
– I think they are still an annual thing. Something to do with the calendar.
– I am afraid I am worn out already, and it's still hours to go till midnight.
– You should take it easy. Sit back, eat some nibbles, crack open a bottle of something.
– That's what I have been doing all evening. It's not that simple.
– It sounds fairly simple to me.
– You say that, but it takes a lot of organising. A lot of taking things out of fridges and putting them into ovens. And taking them out of ovens at the appropriate moment. It's touch and go at times.
– It must be very stressful for you.
– It is.
– At least you can relax tomorrow. And eat all the leftovers.
– That'll be more work...
– Then don't eat the leftovers. Just leave them in the fridge till next New Year's Eve.

Twenty-fourth

But when to Bethlehem they came,
Whereat this Infant lay,
They found him in a manger,
Where oxen feed on hay;
His mother Mary kneeling,
Unto the Lord did pray:
O tidings of comfort and joy.

Twenty-third

    "Would it help your investigations if I replaced the sugared almonds?"
    "No, I am afraid not. They were a crucial piece of evidence, clearly left at the scene of the crime by the culprit himself. Who knows what clue they may have revealed to point to his identity and hasten us towards the denouement of this bizarre crime?"
    "Well, I cannot remember any particularly distinguishing features. They were simply plain white. Or pink. Some white, some pink. Quite crunchy, I seem to remember."
    "There must have been something – some subtle mark or characteristic, perhaps slightly out of the ordinary?"
    "Not that I can recall. Although there was some handwriting on the paper bag. As if the owner had been jotting down notes of some sort: names, addresses, times, dates, floor plans... Really quite elaborate, now that I come to think about it."
    "What! What did you do with this paper bag?"
    "Now that's a very good question! I wonder what I did do with it..."

Twenty-second

– I seem to have spent the day stocking up the fridge.
– I thought the fridge was fairly full to begin with.
– Yes, but not with anything particularly useful. Mainly half-empty jars of stuff well past their sell-by dates. Long-forgotten vegetables slowly turning to compost. Leftovers neatly bagged and labelled and crammed into the bottom of the freezer, never to be seen again. It's quite therapeutic to have a clear-out and make space for the turkey.
– I wondered what that was. There also seem to be bags of food scattered around the house.
– Well, not all the non-fridge items will fit in the cupboards. So I've had to be creative in my storage solutions.
– Will you be able to remember where you've left everything?
– Try me.
– Mayonnaise.
– ... We could make it from scratch.
– Have you ever made it from scratch?
– It can't be that difficult. What do you need?
– Eggs.
– ... Probably in the conservatory.

Twenty-first

We went to the German Market today, as we have done every year for longer than I can remember; possibly since they were first invented. And every year we see the same stalls, in the same locations, and, for all I know, the same customers milling about, sipping glühwein and nibbling bratwurst. Or perhaps the stalls are actually quite different, but end up selling very similar products, as if to underline the fact that these intricate Christmas tree decorations and imposing nutcracker dolls are not hand-carved by the stall owner in his threadbare garret, but are mass-produced in a modern factory on the other side of the planet, possibly by robots. But still, the main purpose of visiting the market is not to buy armfuls of gifts, but to absorb some of the Yuletide spirit and enter into an appropriate mood for the imminent festivities. And some strudel along the way does not go amiss.

Twentieth

    "Where exactly are we?"
    The professor stepped away from the console and peered into the surrounding gloom.
    "Somewhere rather dark and foggy," he said, "if that is of any help."
    "So we have been transported somewhere?"
    "No, of course not. You do not seem to have understood a word I have been saying to you. This is a time machine. We are at exactly the same location where we were a moment ago. But we are at a point in time perhaps many centuries, if not millennia, before. Or possibly after."
    His calmly pedantic manner only fuelled my growing sense of unease.
    "You do not seem very sure about any of this," I snapped.
    "There are more important concerns than such trivial details," he replied. "Does it really matter what exact year we happen to have arrived in?"
   "I would have thought it was of some relevance," I said. "It might help to explain what that is over there, coming out of the fog towards us."

Nineteenth

– When you stop to think about it, some of the traditions we have at Christmastime are a little bit odd, don't you think?
– How do you mean?
– Well, things like putting large trees in a corner of the living room and decorating them with random shiny baubles. Covering the outside of your house with gaudy displays of twinkling multicoloured lights. It's not really the sort of thing you do in the normal course of events.
– But that's the point: it's all about doing something a little out of the ordinary in order to celebrate the joys of the season. Otherwise you would just be doing what you would do any other day.
– Like having a sensible-sized roast chicken for lunch rather than a bird the size of a small dinosaur?
– Precisely. Where's the fun of just having chicken when you could have a small dinosaur?
– And sprouts.
– Sprouts are not so extraordinary.
– They are for me. I can't abide them.

Eighteenth

Only a week to go to Christmas. I suppose this is always a tricky period, this final run-up to the festivities. Having spent the last few weeks rushing around buying food and gifts, you get to the point where you feel surely all the preparations are completed, or if not, then they will just have to do. And then you remember there are a few minor items still missing, such as everything you need for lunch on the day itself, and even presents for relatives you've somehow managed to forget about.

But you determine not to spend the remaining days in a mad panic, but to take a few deep breaths, make a few lists, annotate with priorities and suggesting timings, and glide effortlessly through your outstanding tasks, taking some time along the way to put your feet up with a cup of tea and a slice of cake and your favourite book of poetry. And yet – despite all your efforts – you have a sneaking suspicion that perhaps it will end up being a mad panic after all.

Seventeenth

    "I'm not sure I understand you. What do you mean, we can travel back in time?"
    "Precisely that. To whatever date you care to choose."
    The professor's innocent expression did not waver for a second. Either he was a brazen liar or he had actually begun to believe in his tale. Perhaps the years of solitary study were finally taking their toll. I glanced at the unpromising assemblage of dials, cogs and levers in front of us, for all the world like the workings of a huge clock that had been torn apart and rebuilt inside out.
    "And this contraption is a time machine?" 
    "Please," chided the professor, "it is not a contraption, as you put it, but a complex and delicate apparatus, the product of my life's work. I would be grateful if you showed it the respect it deserves."
    "I apologise for my scepticism. But surely you understand why I find all this – a little hard to swallow." 
    The professor shrugged. "It is what I have come to expect, although I had hoped you would be rather more open minded. Perhaps there is only one way in which I can convince you. Would you care to take part in an experiment?"
     If it was all fiction, it was time to call the old man's bluff.
    "What have I got to lose?"

Sixteenth

My birthday, if you have been following the story to date, is now only hours away. When I was young I would try to stay awake till midnight, watching the clock by my bed tick the minutes away till the new day had begun and I could wish myself many happy returns. Now that I am older, and tend to go to bed later, waiting up till midnight is not such a significant event, and if anything I usually have to make an effort to put my book away and switch off the light before the hour arrives, knowing I will struggle to get up in time for work the next morning. To avoid this last problem, I have had the foresight to take tomorrow as holiday, so that at least I can have a more leisurely start to the day, lingering over breakfast, browsing through the newspaper, rather than rushing about trying to make the sandwiches while feeding the cat. No wonder my sandwiches sometimes taste a little odd.

Birthdays come around so quickly nowadays; the years keep piling up, in a relentless sort of a way. It would be nice to have a break now and again from time's wingèd chariot: perhaps to stay put at a particularly interesting age for a few years, and then maybe skip through some of the less attractive ones a little more quickly. Tomorrow I will be – well, whatever: not a very enthralling age, though at least a prime number, which doesn't happen all that often. But then they don't seem to sell greeting cards saying Happy Prime Number Birthday when they sell so many other obscurely personalised cards. A gap in the market if ever there was one.

Fifteenth

    "I am glad to report some promising developments in the case over the last few days. I feel confident that we are on the verge of a successful conclusion to the mystery that has baffled us for so long."
    "That is excellent news. Can you now point to the culprit?"
    "One step at a time, I'm afraid: if we pounce too soon, all will be lost. Indeed, we must exert the utmost care to spin a web around our prey from which there will be no escape."
    "I am intrigued to know how you have disentangled this conundrum."
    "Well, what is remarkable is how the entire case has turned on one apparently insignificant event."
    "That is astonishing! May I inquire–?
    "You remember the bag of sugared almonds? How it inexplicably went missing?"
    "–The sugared almonds, you say?"
    "Exactly. I kept thinking it made no sense for them to be taken. And then it dawned on me – everything suddenly became as clear as crystal."
    "Ah – I must apologise. I don't know what came over me."
    "I beg your pardon – apologise for what?"
    "The sugared almonds. A weakness of mine."
    "You took the sugared almonds?"
    "I thought that was what you had deduced?"
    "No, no, not at all..."
    "Oh... Well, please continue..."

Fourteenth

– And are you feeling better?
– Don't know. Not much.
– You should have stayed in bed all day.
– Don't like staying in bed.
– But it is a proven method to heal all manner of ailments. That and hot sweet tea. And chicken soup. I hope you've at least had some chicken soup?
– Yes.
– Good... You're not being very communicative.
–
– I suppose it's not easy to be chatty when you're feeling under the weather.
–
– Luckily I'm not the sort of person who takes offence easily.
–
– Well, I'm sure that will be some consolation to you.
–

Thirteenth

As if to underline my advancing years and the fast approaching birthday, I have been stricken by some itinerant germ, with the unpleasant symptoms of coughs and sneezes and generalised malaise. This is not a good time to be laid low, with the impending festivities requiring a high degree of planning and coordination. So if this ailment persists, there will be no presents under the tree and nothing to eat in the fridge and Christmas will be ruined for everybody, although considerable cheaper for me.

Twelfth

– I thought you said you had put up your Christmas tree?
– I have. There it is, in the corner.
– Of course. I don't know how I missed it.
– It is unobtrusive, certainly: I didn't want anything too showy.
– It is not definitely not showy. And yet, sometimes Christmas trees can get away with being a little bit showy. Tinsel, decorations – they work quite well on a Christmas tree. Even fairy lights, normally not the sort of thing you would want to drape around your living room, somehow suit it.
– Do you think I've gone for too muted a look?
– Sometimes it's best to make a bold statement. The blobs of carelessly scattered cotton wool are charming in their own way, but maybe it just needs something extra.

Eleventh

    "So, you think it is such a simple matter to escape? I can assure you the castle is impregnable. Your friends will never break in. And you will never break out."
    The captain's words echoed around the cavernous guardroom. His hands now securely bound, the prisoner sat slumped in the chair, seemingly resigned to his defeat. But a quick glance around his cell had given him an idea. The odds were stacked against him, the chance of success vanishingly small, but he had no choice. How quickly could the captain draw and fire his revolver? There was only one way to find out.

Tenth

It is nearly my birthday. Not that I expect you to care, let alone to rush out and buy me something; but rather it's helpful to remind myself of it, particularly at this time of year, when it is far too easy to be swept along by everything else that is happening. December is typically spent frantically buzzing around, worrying about all the stuff you have to buy, and wrap up, and put into the freezer. (Not necessarily the same item, you understand: else the wrapping paper would go soggy.)  Sometimes you have to call a halt to it all, and try to find a moment of stillness to reflect on the passing of time and the relentless approach of yet another birthday. Unfortunately for me, the stillness is often broken by the disconsolate wailing of the cat, who clearly wants something, but never quite lets on what it is.

Ninth

– Let me get this straight: you bought an Advent calendar for your cat?
– You say that as if there is something odd about it. Lots of people buy Advent calendars for their pets. Well, for their cats and dogs, at any rate. I can't say I've ever seen any for a goldfish or a gerbil, but, who knows, perhaps they sell them.
– And does the cat have any concept of the meaning of Advent, or Christmas, or anything for that matter?
– Well, that's a difficult question. I think sometimes we underestimate how much animals actually do understand. Clearly, the cat has never shown much interest in organised religion, but then neither do many people, so I'm not sure what that proves. And on the other hand, she certainly looks forward to the daily opening of another window on the Advent calendar, and indeed some days tries to open it herself.
– Only because she has learned that it contains treats.
– Well, that's a very mercenary interpretation. Perhaps she genuinely enjoys the sense of anticipation, the discovery of something new behind each window.
– Do they all contain the same treats?
– Yes, but she doesn't know that.

Eighth

    "Any progress with the case? I am beginning to fear we will never get to the bottom of it."
    "There has been one rather bizarre development since we last met, but I am afraid it compounds the mystery rather than sheds any light. It is really most perplexing."
    "Whatever has happened?"
    "This morning I was reviewing the evidence we had collected, in light of a new hypothesis I had formed, when I was surprised to discover that some of the evidence has disappeared."
    "No! This is astonishing – who could have tampered with it? Has much been taken?"
    "Only one item – the bag of sugared almonds."
    "– Really? You don't say... The sugared almonds...?"
    "Yes. That is what I cannot fathom – why the sugared almonds?"
    "Ah, yes... Indeed... I cannot imagine..."

Seventh

– You've bought a Christmas cake.
– Yes. It seemed somehow appropriate. Of course, I may not cut into it for a while: perhaps wait till the day itself.
– But you could have made one yourself, for a fraction of the cost.
– I don't know... The recipe probably requires hundreds of different ingredients. And also highly specialised equipment, such as a cake tin. Have you ever looked in my kitchen cupboards? It would cost me a small fortune and weeks of effort to assemble everything required.
– But what about the sense of achievement you would get from your own craftsmanship?
– Unfortunately, I know from past experience the limitations of my craftsmanship when it comes to baking. At the end of the day I want something that's edible, and preferably tastes nice. Else I might end up with a large fruity doorstop.
– At least it would be festive.

Sixth

Silently, he edged towards the open doorway. Ahead lay the window and the route to freedom. Within the guard room, voices grew more animated. He risked a quick glance. Four – more than he expected, but at least absorbed in a rowdy card game. With any luck, they wouldn't notice a thing. But there was no point in weighing up the odds – it was now or never. He slipped past the doorway, then stumbled as a shot rang out behind him. Shouts came from the guard room, chairs flung back, footsteps running towards him. He hurled himself at the window.

Fifth

1. Presents
2. Tree
3. Food

– Is that it?
– Well, just about. It is succinct, but covers the main necessities.
– It is not very specific for a shopping list.
– I don't like to be too constrained. But with this you can just wander into a shop and be out again within minutes, whereas if you were looking for a very detailed list of items, you would be there for ever before you found everything.
– I suppose that makes some sense, in a worrying way. Although I should think that the tree might be problematic depending on what kind of shop you wander into.
– You are allowed to take some liberties. So, in place of a tree you might pick up some other decorative items, such as some tinsel, say, or a box of Christmas crackers.
– That is quite a liberty. Especially if you actually wanted a tree.

Fourth

Lost: large brown bear. Answers to the name of Daisy. Approximately 6' 2¾" tall. Weight: probably quite a lot. Last seen in the travel section of Didsbury public library. If found, please approach with caution, and under no circumstances offer chocolate. Generally has an affectionate nature, but may easily become upset by thoughtless and insensitive comments.

Third

– Uncle Arthur?
– Is he still alive?
– Very much so.
– A bottle of whisky.
– We bought him that last year.
– I am sure he has drunk it by now. He doesn't have many interests in life.
– Should we encourage him?
– He doesn't really need much encouragement: he's very self-motivated.
– Chloë and Ben?
– A posh bottle of wine?
– Chloë and Ben are still at school.
– Are they? I thought they both had jobs in the City?
– They are ten and twelve years old respectively.
– So who am I thinking of?
– Goodness knows.

Second

    "And so, what do you conclude? Now that the evidence is before us, what is your opinion of the matter?"
    "I have to confess I cannot make head nor tail of it. It appears to be a crime without the slightest motive, with not a single intelligible clue to point towards the perpetrator, but only a series of bizarre and inconsequential red herrings to obscure our progress."
    "But take those red herrings, as you so eloquently describe them, one by one: is there no thread, however slight, that connects them, and thus may lead us to the correct solution?"
    "I am afraid to say I am totally at a loss. The evidence you have accumulated is meaningless to me – completely random, as far as I can tell."
    "Really? Is anything ever truly random? What do we have? A rolled-up black umbrella, flecked with blood, and with a handle bearing the teeth marks of a small unidentifiable rodent not indigenous to these shores. A copy of the Times, dated exactly twenty-five years ago today, in pristine condition apart from the word "perambulator" written in green ink in the right hand margin of the first page. Two first class railway tickets to Margate. An Amazonian blowdart tipped with curare. A quarter of a pound of sugared almonds. I hardly think that this constitutes a random collection of items."

First

– So, is that an Advent calendar?
– Yes. Rather sweet, isn't it?
– Maybe a little – twee?
– Well, they do tend to be on the sugary side. It's just the nature of these things.
– You bought an Advent calendar?
– Why not? It's a traditional way to mark the countdown to Christmas. All those little windows. With pictures inside. It's a design classic.
– And containing shapeless lumps of unappetising chocolate?
– Well, they seem to have swamped the market. Quite hard to find ones without chocolates. Of course, you don't have to eat the chocolate. You could just throw it away. And admire the pictures.
– Perhaps you could find a less calorific way to mark the passing of December. Such as writing a post every day. Each one celebrating some thoughtful aspect of the season, eschewing crass commercialism.
– And chocolate?
– I'm afraid so.