Exactly 29 days. That’s how long we have left until Christmas as I sit writing this.

Less than one month to go. Now I’ve actually had to check the calendar on my laptop to work that out, because long gone is the childhood habit of counting down the days from the moment the clocks go back in October.

What used to be a time of fantasy and festivity, of carols by candle light and repeats of Home Alone 2 on TV has been replaced by negotiating time spent with extended family on the big day and an anxious rush to get everyone’s presents. The types of activity which make me think ‘Christmas can wait’.

Of a more pressing concern is the number of Christmas parties I’ll be attending between now and December 23.

I have at least six over the next four weeks, with the possibility of being a +1 at a few others. This means that even if I (horror of horrors) ‘double up’ for half of them, I still need at least three new outfits. What you’re about to witness is a stream of consciousness (read: anxiety) over what to wear during the festive season.

Now I’m not exactly The Grinch, but I find the prospect of four hours of 80s’ Christmas earworms maddening.

If these were parties that I spent weeks looking forward to, I would have a firm aesthetic vision by now for each of them. But dressing up for the 90 minutes you plan to stay at a party until the free bar tab runs out hardly seems worth it.

Yet given that ‘tinsel’ doesn’t count as a dress code as far as I’m concerned, I find myself compelled to banish the Scrooge in me and make a proper effort.

That noted, cheesy red and green get-ups really aren’t my thing. The closest I’ll come to traditional togs is donning a little tartan.

Although I can’t help but feel more Camden than Christmas whenever I do this. Tartan takes me back to my high school grunge years, when teaming black with black was considered a statement of self-expression and washing your hair was optional.

These days I have just one tartan number – a beautiful dress with net underlay that my sister bought for me from a country fair a few years ago. It conjures memories of the quaint ‘Oxmas’ parties I passed at uni, complete with mistletoe and far too much mulled wine. But at least that’s one outfit sorted.

For the others I’m far too overwhelmed by all the trend options being thrown at me. From Gatsby glitter to Chekhovian furs, I’m spoilt for choice and feeling stumped. Should I be hunting down this season’s most wanted statement skirt with multiple layers of pleated tulle? Is it time for my vintage velvet cape to make a comeback?

All of a sudden the idea of clothing rations à la WWII appeals to me. Maybe, just maybe, in line with my pre-new year’s resolution to give the clothes I already have a little more air time, I could three-cycle an outfit.

But the pressure’s on and I still need to make an impression.

On second thoughts, I think I’ll pass on the tulle – there’s a very real risk I’ll wind up looking more like a sugar plum pudding than a sugar plum fairy.