Do you really throw your knickers out before Christmas?

There was a snippet in the newspaper last weekend - apparently 'The average British woman will throw out eleven pairs of knickers in the run-up to Christmas in readiness of the new ones her partner will buy her as a gift.'

Really?

Are our black bins overflowing with pants every December? Do the bin men grin as they empty yet another sackful of undies onto the rubbish tip? Do women only throw out the knickers that have gone a bit grey with saggy elastic, or are they getting rid of perfectly useful ones as well?

And please, if there are men reading (I'm widowed and don't have a tame man to ask something so personal), do you really throw yourselves into the Christmas-shopping fray with nothing more original on your minds than pants? I know most women like a little bit of lace from time to time, but every year? Can you really not think beyond her nether regions and wonder if, for once, a nice thermal vest might not go down just as well?

Then again, those numbers - the average British woman throwing away eleven pairs. Well, not me, for a start. And not anyone I know. Which means - to balance us out and reach this sort of average - some women must be throwing away, say, fifty pairs of knickers in December. (I don't own fify pairs of knickers, but maybe you don't need to know this.)

I know, we shouldn't believe everything we read in the papers. And this strikes me as one of the silliest snippets I've read recently.

But doesn't it create a wonderful image - all those woman secretly stuffing their old pants into the bin and then pretending to be astonished on Christmas Day when they open another pile of pink and frillies.

(Can't help wondering if anyone will drop by admitting to throwing away her pants in December. If it's you - please comment. You are welcome here, even if I don't quite understand your family's commitment to Seasonal underwear.)

Oh heck, it's December already.

Someone asked me the other day if I'm ready for Christmas. It's three weeks away, I said.

So are you packed ready to go to Cuba? That's five weeks away, I said.

Even from here, I can detect a collective intake of breath. How can I be so casual? There will be no cards/balloons/tinsel left in the shops if I leave it one more day to buy them. What if I there are no mince pies left on Christmas Eve - and they speak as if the world will fall in for want of a mince pie. (I have no children sleeping in my house on Christmas Eve - I accept the possibility of the world ending in a home dependent on a mince pie for Santa.)

You must have lists, they tell me. Well, I have sort of lists - in my head. I know roughly what I need to think about when the time comes. Who needs presents, who needs to be fed and when, where I might be going and do I have a frock? (Yes, the same frock that has come out every Christmas for years. But you probably guessed I'm not into frocks.)

I'm not sure there's clear water between planners and last-minuters - between those who finish their shopping in September and others who do it all on Christmas Eve. Over the next three weeks I'll gather what I need, when I have time to think about it - for it does take thinking. I don't fall in with the panic-at-the-last-minute brigade. Neither do I spend four months preparing for what is, essentially, one day. I think there is a planning continuum, with the September shoppers at one end and last-minuters at the other and every range of planning pattern in between. And, while I sit towards the Christmas Eve end, I do leave myself time to think. For it is a day that needs thinking.

And Cuba - surely you're planning Cuba? Ah, Cuba. I'll talk about Cuba another time.

Meanwhile, I might make a list. And you - where do you sit on the planning continuum?