The mantra

You know the one, the comforting words that are in almost-continual use in this house: "It will all be worth it when it's finished...."

The attic shower room progresses, after long delays caused by non-delivery of goods due to the snow. It's just at that squalid and depressing stage, where you have to wonder what you've done and why you can't just be happy with things as they were.

The hallway is filled with enormous boxes: shower glass; fixing kits and slider rails; taps, basin, toilet(s; see below), and cats climb, pounce, hide and ambush.

The tiling is almost done. The shower tray is in place, revealing the most uneven floor the plumber has ever had to deal with. There is about an inch and a quarter gap between the nearest corner and the floor.  "We shall have to be creative with this" says Richie, but he looks troubled.

Richie is very stressed; so many delays in deliveries, so many emergency calls, so much work piling up to be done before Christmas. I feed him and Ryan home made chocolate chip cookies (thanks, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, for such an easy recipe) and cluck soothingly, then go off to buy six more tiles for tomorrow. And a basin waste and plug; cancelling orders brings inconveniences like this.

I also throw in some panicky Christmas shopping and a huge, costly grocery shop, the kind you do when you are having visitors and lose all sense of proportion, forgetting that they will never be able to eat all that food. All the while I'm hoping that I won't meet anyone I know, dressed as I am in baggy tracksuit bottoms and with unwashed, plaster-dusty hair.

The basin and toilet arrive while I'm out; they should have been here last week. They are my third choice, the previous two suddenly becoming unavailable or damaged in the warehouse. However, another toilet, surplus to requirements, has been delivered in error along with the shower, and when I ring to ask for it to be taken away, I am advised (by "one of our advisors" on the supplier's sales line) to say nothing about it. Clearly it is too much trouble to organise its collection for return. So friends will have it instead; the least exciting Christmas present ever. I shan't wrap it....

My sister Anne arrives tomorrow, although the big freeze forecast for Thursday makes her return to Glasgow at the end of the week a less certain element of the plan. She emails me to ask if she should bring a smart frock for our lunch on Thursday. When I tell her she should not, she says she doesn't own one anyway. We opt for smart casual - in my case the 'smart' is but a dream, although Anne scrubs up well. I still haven't found my black boots, and the alternatives are awful to contemplate.

The snow is disappearing rapidly now, but lumpy wet ice on the pavements makes walking a high-risk activity. The grassy areas are just muddy and tragic. The house is filthy, with plaster dust, dog hair and mud everywhere. Anne says she doesn't mind, but I will get up early tomorrow and traumatise the cats with the Hoover of Terror and the Mop of Fear before picking her up at the station. Perhaps we will spend the afternoon at the beach; Anne can work up an appetite chucking balls for Flossie, to help out with the food mountain in the fridge.

At least the front door looks festive, so long as you don't peer behind it.