Too much of everything bar time and money: holiday season begins

Despite the unseasonably warm weather that still has autumnal blooms going in my garden, it is definitely that time of year. There are no unscheduled weekends between now and the big holiday, and the number of people with whom I'm having the "we really must get together before things shut down" is greater than our list of free evenings. We'll do our best.

Cards have been purchased, lists polished, my godson's annual themed box with related custom-written storybook (it's dinosaur year) is taking shape. I'm helping to organise the local holiday home decorating contest. I'm back at Weight Watchers and the gym less in hope of losing weight than in a defensive play to limit the damage of three to five meals out a week.  My husband is reviewing which fine wines are ready to drink, how much foie gras we still have in store and whether goose or duck would be better for dinner on the 25th.

God, I love Christmas.

Though each year, I worry a little more that the excess-fuelled run-up to those few restful, quiet days at the turn of the year is going to kill me. Let it try. I'm carpe-ing the diem.

The season gets off to its official start, at least in the Bencard family diary, with the Lansdowne Club's annual ball. As a newcomer to England I remember thumbing through the pages of Hello magazine, agog at how well Brits seemed to do themed parties and wishing I would be invited to one. Now that I've gone native ... and have a club membership ... I can attest that the parties are just as good as they look.

This year's theme: Arabian Nights. The same team that helped me plan my wedding turned our club's Georgian, two-story entry hall into a Bedouin tent, complete with flickering lanterns, piles of cushions and rugs and a wonderfully improbable topiary camel. The courtyard became a souk, while the staff looked like they'd knocked over a costume warehouse for a decade's worth of pantomime productions of Aladdin. Disguising the towering Georgian lines of the ballroom would have been a bit much, but the food and entertainment carried on the theme. The chef wove Turkish flavours through his usual haut European cuisine, and the sommelier wheeled out some worthy Lebanese wines. Of course, their were belly dancers. And far too much topping up of glasses to be either safe or healthy. Thank god I'd booked a room, so we only had to stumble to the lift and down a hall.

The next morning, after a constitutionally-settling fry up, it was off to meet the Northwestern Girls for the Spirit of Christmas fair at Olympia. How have we missed this in years past? This is, by a vast margin, the best Christmas shopping experience ever. In fact, with several hundred exhibitors, it's less a Christmas Fair and more a pop up mall filled with the kind of tasteful, unique boutiques that were kicked off the high street years ago by the big chains. Jewellery, custom-designed clothing, homewares, toys, indulgences for your pets, quirky shoe brands, custom-printed stationary, and loads more. Most of the upper balcony that runs around the exhibition hall is filled with luxury food and drink items.

Ironically, the thing you won't find much of is Christmas decorations. This is not some cutesy take on a German Christmas market. Rather, it's mostly craftspeople and designers who market themselves through an annual rota of fairs rather than shops. It's quite possible to do all of your shopping here, for everyone on your list. If you can keep your energy levels up. There are two champagne bars within the show to help with that. We've sworn that it's going to become an annual outing, and we'll be better prepared next year. (Less hung over, for example.)

Then the girls followed me to Hampshire for a mini-break. There was no way our diaries were going to allow a weekend away, so we opted for Saturday night at my house followed by Sunday at the spa. My husband, who'd gone directly home from the club when I went off to the fair, had offered to cook for us if we allowed him to dine with us. A good deal. Lisa and Hillary brought the wine, mostly liberated from stocks bought during our Burgundian wine tasting trip in 2008. (Start here and read the four entries that follow for coverage of that trip.) Then on to the first Christmas gift exchange of the year, since the likelihood of us all being together again in the next six weeks is slim.

A celebratory dinner needs to be rather extraordinary, of course, and my husband delivered the goods. First, we liberated some of the foie gras we made in Gascony earlier this year and matched it with spelt biscuits and dollops of quince jam. Served with the Chapel Down "Nectar" we discovered on our tour of the Kentish vineyard in August. Next, the husband's lobster, avocado and orange salad. It sounds odd, but he'd do well rolling this out as a signature dish at his Masterchef introduction. Was the 2004 Chablis Grand Cru worthy of the dish, or the dish worthy of the wine? Hard to tell. The man moved us on to roast haunch of venison with a chili chocolate sauce he'd been slaving over all afternoon, starting from the bag of venison bones ... cracked to release their marrow ... I'd picked up along with the meat from Newlyn's earlier in the week. Time and care make a difference; the sauce was extraordinary. As was the 2005 Pomerol that moved to centre stage. Possibly upstaged by the "mystery Burgundy", another bottle from that trip that had lost its label. We'll never know its precise details, but it was fabulous. Lemon souffle to wind down. Giving the man a break (he neither likes to eat, or cook, desserts) these were cheats from Iceland. Good enough to make me think I need to write an entry on my recent revelation that there are some amazing things to be unearthed at the so-called "discounters".

Having proved that we can do luxury almost as well at home as we can in a fine dining establishment (I hope), Sunday was all about recovery at Nirvana Spa. Much lap swimming, napping on heated loungers and a healthy vegetarian lunch.  Now back to work, the gym, and a few days back at the grindstone before we're off to Copenhagen next weekend for a family birthday.

Laissez les bon temps roulez.