When you read these lines Christmas period will be upon us, offices will be roaring with laughter and smelling of mincemeat pies and cheap wine. At least I hope it will be a merry Christmas this year again. I am penning this article at the end of September (this periodical’s deadlines are very much ahead of publication) and the world does not look hugely merry in the wake of the horrible terrorist acts in New York and Washington.

Such cathartic moments make you stop and review the meaning of your life. You feel terrible sadness at the lost lives and compassion with all those people, complete strangers to you, who lost somebody near and dear to them in the tragedy. At the same time you have an irrational feeling of guilt that you and your family have not been affected. You stupid man, I am telling myself, you should feel grateful. My daughter works for a stockbroker firm in a tall skyscraper in America – fortunately, fate took her to Chicago instead of New York. Thank God!

Yet it is not good to grieve for too long. Life must go on, they say. Indeed, life will go on. It has always gone on. I suppose it will go on in some mutant form even after a nuclear Armageddon – God forbid that it happen! And, of course, most people have rather short memory and the American tragedy of 11^th September will soon be if not forgotten at least very much at the back of the mind. I am praying that it would be so, everybody would go peacefully about their daily chores and no new disaster would derail our lives.

And let’s admit it, most of us have quite a happy and easy life, though we have our ups and we have our downs. I have one of my downs just now. But it is not my fault. The horoscope in today’s newspaper tells me that my ruler, Saturn, has been travelling backwards through the skies since Thursday making my progress very hard. I should slow down and take life as it comes, it adds. Unfortunately, life comes with deadlines so I can’t slow down until I have finished this article.

***

Now that the autumn is in full swing and the winter will very soon be upon us, the period of colds, coughs, flus and other sufferings cannot be far away. As an overture to that season I have just acquired that tickling sensation around the tonsils, foreshadowing a nasty sore throat in a few days’ time, no doubt. Of course, my daughters always accuse me, whenever I feel unwell, that I am a hypochondriac. Well, I am not but even if I were my state shouldn’t be taken lightly.

A few months ago I read in the newspapers that nowadays hypochondria is accepted as a serious illness though until recently there was no specialised hospital where you could go for a cure. But not long ago the first hospital clinic to help hypochondriacs was opened in the city of Bergen, in Norway. The hospital’s leading doctor Ingvard Wilhemsen confirmed in a newspaper interview that hypochondriacs "really do suffer". They need help to understand the psychological root of their problem. They are convinced they have terrible and often exotic ailments.

I am convinced I am in for a very long and bothersome flu. Does it make me a hypochondriac? To find out I must now do a lot of exercising to become fit because the Bergen clinic will apparently treat only patients who are proven to be in excellent physical health.

Alas, I am not very good at exercising. My present "exercise regimen" consist of getting into a bathtub filled with pleasantly warm water, pulling the drain stopper and then fighting the current. Well, must do better! Tomorrow is a Highland Ball on, organised by one of the local Scottish country dancing clubs. So it is time to put on my kilt and few reels and jugs will surely help me sweat off any nasty cold that is lurking in the offing.

***

It was a few years back that I was registered on some computer as a female and was getting various invitations to women’s dos. Especially an Efficient Communications Consultancy Company was desirous of my active participation in various seminars in spite of the fact that I had communicated to them my reluctance to undergo a sex change operation.

Until recently I was left in peace. A few weeks ago my femininity was rediscovered. I became a "priority customer No. B794249" of CareerTrack International who have invited me to attend, for a mere £ 99 plus VAT, their one-day seminar on Assertive Communication Skills for Women. I shall learn there, they tell me, how to communicate powerfully, in a style that is comfortable to me and will gain me a reputation as being firm, forthright and fair – without sacrificing my femininity.

Now I can’t wait to learn (as soon as I have saved for the fee) how "to get moving in the right direction", how "to use my unspoken body language" and "what words to use when I want to let the steam off" (actually, I already know most of the words, but they would not be suitable for print). Their seminar will also help me in sensitive situations when someone "takes liberties" or "interferes with my work". Working as an accountant it should help me master the skills of dealing with the auditors, I suppose.

So if you meet me take care and be nice to me. There is going to be a lot of assertiveness in this old biddy, and if you cross me I shall know how to deal with you. I may even buy a boxing glove to fortify my body language.

***

No, I am not a pugnacious person. I am mostly very mild and I try to be courteous and helpful. Indeed, my desire to help other people is so strong that I have decided to include in my musings and Agony Uncle Dalbor’s corner. Being old, my colleagues think I am also wise. (Well, it may be wise not to contradict them.) So they often ask me for advice.

Agony Uncle Dalbor’s Corner

Today I’d like to tackle a tricky problem that concerns all of us in the UN system who attend various receptions. Somebody asked me the other day: holding a glass at a party or a reception where a speech is being given, what are you supposed to do about clapping? Most people seem playfully patting the hand holding the glass and thus risking spillage or even breakage, or else simply smile. Neither of these options seems to me adequate, I told the enquirer.

Myself, being one of the tallest men in any gathering, I feel rather self-conscious about standing in the crowd and being apparently unresponsive in such situations. So I have given this problem a very thorough thought. I also consulted some experts on etiquette, but they were not much help here. After much consideration I can think of only one solution to the problem: with your free hand unbutton the bottom three buttons on your shirt. You will find that slapping your stomach will produce a very realistic clapping noise at the same time as helping to loosen up the proceedings.

The above method is also suitable for ladies, as long as they wear fairly loose blouses. So start practising now for the next Christmas party.

***

In conclusion I’d like to remind you not to miss the last posting date for letters to Father Christmas, otherwise it may again be just socks and slippers under the Christmas tree like last year.

Let me wish you all a merry, tummy-slapping Christmas and a happy New Year 2002.